


My Kingdom For You

by Long_Time_QT



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Castles, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, King Derek Hale, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Marriage Contracts, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Post-War, Prince Stiles, Princess Allison, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Long_Time_QT/pseuds/Long_Time_QT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago in the historically inaccurate vaguely medieval past, wolves ran rampant through Stilinski lands, killing and maiming this way and that. The gracious Argent kingdom offered their aid... for a price.</p><p>Eight years later, Stiles and Allison dread their upcoming nuptials until a highly strange incident occurs: Stiles vanishes.</p><p>Trapped in the mountains with monsters, Stiles is forced to wonder what will become of him and his kingdom. Why is he there? What does the Beast King have in store for him? Will war between Argent and Stilinski kingdoms break loose? Are the monsters truly monsters after all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Subjects of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

_Long ago, there existed two kingdoms._

_One of fierce warriors, silver adorn’d,_

_One of noble minds prided on wisdom_

_Whose people were slain, and their losses mourn’d._

_Blame fell on wolves; the moon they did obey_

_‘Til blood of argent lines did slay the Queen_

_Leaving a debt for the wise to repay._

_So a betrothal’s where we lay our scene,_

_Of one promised to a reluctant bride._

_A promise soon broken when fates preside_

\--

"Lydia! Hey, Lydia!” Stiles ran down the corridor after the lady in waiting, who graced the halls with her perfectly braided strawberry hair and elegant lilac gown. She looked over her shoulder with a smile and an eye roll before resuming her trek through the castle.

“What d’you want, Stiles?” she asked as the prince slowed to a walk next to her, grinning stupidly and swinging his arms by his side. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? The Argents will be here soon.”

“Exactly!” Stiles gestured wildly for emphasis, “This is our last chance to run away together before I have to face my princely responsibilities and start wooing Allison. I won’t be an option anymore.”

“Mmm, pass,” Lydia said before smiling mischievously, “And I barely considered you an option before.”

Stiles stifled his laugh with a gasp, dramatically throwing a hand over his heart, “Ouch, way to crush my ego.”

A few years ago, Lydia’s rejection would have devastated him. He’d idolized her back then. Now that they had grown to respect one another as friends, whatever heartbreak he might have felt was no more than a pinprick. Hey, he may have been over her but she was still his first love, even if he wasn’t hers.

“Someone has to,” Lydia’s smile was prim and teasing as she flicked her braid from one shoulder to the other, “Arrogance isn’t becoming in royalty.”

“But it is in a knight?”

Lydia hummed again, playfulness ebbing away in favour of irritation, “Jealousy isn’t very becoming either.”

“Oh this isn’t jealousy, trust me,” Stiles assured her, “This is just hating me Jackson because he’s evil. Don’t think I don’t know the things he says when I’m not around. Or when you’re not around for that matter.” Lydia pursed her lips and nodded guiltily as Stiles continued.

“He’s just so… ugh. I mean I’m sure he’s great if you see something good in him, no matter how deep, deep, impossibly deep down it’s hidden. But from what I’ve seen, the most redeeming thing about the guy is that he’s insanely loyal to my dad and the best swordsman in the kingdom.”

“He does know how to use a sword,” Lydia said with a wry smile, “but that’s not why I love him.” Stiles rubbed his neck awkwardly, hesitating before asking the question that had been plaguing him.

“Why do you? I mean I know it’s different for everyone, but for you two, how did it happen? Did you grow to love him or was it like, y’know, instant?” Lydia’s expression softened, eyes growing sad, as she realized what he was really asking.

“It’s hard to explain, really,” she started carefully, “He makes me absolutely livid at times and he can be the most infuriating person to be around, but in the end, he’s almost everything I ever wanted.”

“Almost?”

“Easy there, Highness,” Lydia chastised fondly as Stiles raised his hands defensively, “No one can be entirely on my level, but he comes closest. When we met, we were just drawn to each other. I wouldn’t necessarily say we grew to love each other, but it wasn’t love at first sight either. I don’t think it’s possible to understand without knowing.” Stiles nodded, not understanding at all, but somehow saddened. Loveless marriage it was, he supposed. Now would be a good time to change the subject.

“Well, if he makes you happy,” Stiles sighed, then grinned mischievously, “but my offer’s still on the table if you change your mind. You only have a month to announce your undying love and run away with me.” Lydia scrunched up her nose with a smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I’d rather not help you start a war between our kingdom and the Argent’s.” Stiles put on his best forlorn expression and sighed.

“O, woe is I! Forced to watch my love love another, then marry a love who loves me not and whom I do not love.” Lydia snickered and nudged him with her elbow.

“Must you be so dramatic? And say ‘love’ so many times in one thought?” Stiles laughed, but before he could respond, the clearing of someone’s throat interrupted him.

“Sire?” The two turned around to see one of the King’s servants coming up behind them, his green eyes amber in the sunlight streaming through the splayed openings in the wall. They were gorgeous. He cleared his throat, and Stiles realized he’d been entranced. Again.

“Oh, uh, yes?”

“Uh, the King wishes to speak to you before the Argents arrive.”

Ah, the moment he’d been dreading. Stiles sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Parrish.”

The servant respectfully retreated down the hall and Lydia’s smile turned sympathetic, “It’ll be alright.”

Stiles nodded.

“I hope so.”

 --

Stiles took a deep, calming breath as he walked into his father’s chambers. It was spacious and welcoming, with a slight breeze that blew cool, but not chilled, through the open windows. Despite this, Stiles felt like he was entering the dungeons. His father sat at a desk, writing with a large quill, and Stiles approached carefully, “You wanted to see me?”            

His father finished his writing with a flourish, setting the quill temporarily back into the small jar of ink on the upper right corner of the desk.

“Yea,” he said, looking up at his son. His eyes were tired, both from work and worry, but with a touch of fondness. He cleared his throat awkwardly, his acquired noble status hardly making up for his commoner upbringing, and leveled Stiles with a serious gaze.

“I just wanted to make sure you know to be on your best behavior.” Stiles gaped at his father, then flailed arm out dramatically, nearly knocking over a candle and its stand in the process.

“Wha- I always am!”

“And that’s another thing, try to keep the, y’know, the arm movements to a minimum. At least while Victoria’s around. I know you can’t control it, and I wouldn’t ask it of you except that, y’know. It’s Victoria.” Stiles groaned and turned his face heavenward.

"Fine,” he said, keeping his hands firmly at his sides. This was going to be difficult. “I’ll do my best.” His father nodded, and shifted in his seat.

“Just, try to get along with Allison in front of her parents. I know you like to talk each other down in front of us–“

“Wait, what?” Stiles’ gaze whipped down to his father again, “You know about that?”

“Stiles, it’s not exactly hard to figure out. You two were such good friends until you found out you were supposed to be married, then all you can do is point out the negatives while we’re in the room? And _only_ when we’re in the room?” Stiles glanced down at his feet as he shifted his weight, caught in deception. He had thought they were pulling off the lie so well.

“I, uh,” he glanced back up, “do the Argents know?”

“I’m sure Victoria has caught on even if she hasn’t said anything, but Chris definitely knows.” Stiles sighed and let his gaze fall. It seemed their subtle attempts to dissuade their parents from the betrothal hadn’t been so subtle at all. The king sighed.

“Son,” his father said softly, “you know that if I had any say in the matter, the engagement would be called off. The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy. In any aspect of your life.” Stiles nodded, looking up to meet his father’s sorrowful eyes.

He knew his father wasn’t to blame for the arrangement. He’d been in distress, completely lost and having to govern his dying wife’s country while the War of the Wolves raged on. Countless subjects were killed without discrimination, including Stiles’ best friend and sworn brother, Scott. They were both nine at the time.

If it hadn’t been for Lady Kate and the Argent knights, bless their souls, who had valiantly slain the Beast Queen and the entirety of her wolf army in a sea of fire and drove the pitiful number of survivors to the mountains, the kingdom would have fallen. His father had no choice but to agree to the terms of the Argents’ protection. It would mean decades of war against an already decimated land if they refused. Stiles nodded.

“I know.”


	2. Mother Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Allison's POV

The pristine, ornately decorated mahogany carriage swung and bumped behind two silvery-white horses decorated with deep purple and silver adornments. Inside, Allison watched the trees pass her window. She’d been a warrior since birth, a bride to be since she was ten, but after eight years of fighting her destiny, she found herself unable to avoid her fate. She knew how to strategize, acclimatize, and prioritize, been brought up to do so, but this was a matter of her heart and the thought of going against it was enough to make her want to throw herself from the carriage regardless of the harm that may befall her.

“Allison,” her mother’s voice broke her thoughts and she looked across to the seat opposite her, where her mother sat regal and cold.

“Yes, mother?”

Victoria’s expression softened slightly, but her eyes lost none of their steel, “I don’t think I need to remind you why this is happening.”

Allison rolled her eyes and fought the urge to groan. They’d been over this time and time again. She could nearly recite the monologue as well as a bard could.

“Years ago lupine rage and blood-stained snow/ Darken’d Stilinski lands with death and woe/ ‘Til a knight of steel nerves and silver soul/ Took up arms ‘gainst beasts with hearts black as coal/ So Argent light banish’d treacherous hate/ And with her death, Sun and Moon did elate,’” Allison took a moment to calm the unwelcome churning of her stomach before continuing, “Now warrior’s daughter and scholar’s son/ Marry for the dead or peace be undone.’”

Victoria tiled her head and her smile widened fondly.

“You’ll make a fine Queen one day,” her expression hardened as she straightened her head, “Now, remember. Be on your best behaviour. I won’t have the court view you as less than the true ruler you are because you mistreat their current heir, even if it’s something as simple as putting him down in a hopeless attempt to change our minds about the marriage,” Allison crossed his arms defensively while her mother continued, “What you do in the privacy of your own relations doesn’t matter as long as you have the respect and loyalty of the people.” Allison glanced from her mother to her father, who had been sullen and quiet the entire way there. He met her gaze and nodded sympathetically.

“Listen to your mother,” he said in a soft voice, “she knows what’s best for you.” Allison nodded and let her gaze drift to the window again.

Her father shared her views on the marriage, but could do nothing to convince Victoria to nullify it. She was the ultimate authority in their kingdom, and was determined that Allison inherit the right to rule both lands as her own kingdom, not as one shared with her future husband. Allison, for all her character, couldn’t care less for more land or more strength when the cost meant giving up her entire self, her entire future of love and independence. The circumstances as they were, she would rather die than marry a man she did not love, especially when there was someone else she held such fond affections for. War, however, was not a consequence she was willing to risk.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Victoria smile warmly as she spoke.

“You deserve the best, my dear.”

 --

The carriage reached the Stilinski castle around nightfall. The sun had set only moments ago, and soft orange torchlight was the first sight to greet them when they finally stopped. The courtyard seemed as much the same as ever, with stone beneath their feet and terraces extending their reach to the stars above. Allison sighed as she thought about how this would all be hers in a month’s time. No doubt her mother, who was preparing to greet their host with her best imitation of a sincere smile, would assume it was a sigh of longing. In reality, the only thing she was longing for was to go home.

Swiftly approaching from the castle doors, King John smiled jovially, reaching the carriage as the doors opened with his son in tow. Stiles looked about the same as he did a few years back, although his hair had gotten longer. He seemed just as excited about their arrival as she did.

“Queen Victoria! Chris! Allison! It’s good to see you again,” John greeted as Victoria stepped out of the carriage, followed by her husband and daughter. John and Victoria clasped their hands in welcome, and the process repeated with the other two Argents.

 “It’s good to see you as well,” Chris said with a nod. “You and your son.”

“It really is,” Victoria talked down to Stiles, who looked up at her defiantly, “Looking a little less common than I remember. Finally growing into your crown, I see.”

“Mother,” Allison whispered harshly, hoping Stiles wouldn’t make a total ass of himself.

Stiles’ smile seemed about as sincere as Victoria’s, in that it was the kind of smile that said the wearer would rather be facing down a pack of angry wolves than fake pleasantries.

“I’d say so, although I don’t think my crown could ever measure up to the colossal size of yours, Victoria.”

 “Which I’m sure my son meant in the most respectful of ways,” John hurried at the affronted fire in Victoria’s eyes.

“I should hope so. It’s one thing to complement a guest’s royal prowess, but it’s quite another to call her big headed. It’s the mark of a poor man to be so blatantly disrespectful to his superior.”

John smiled that insincere angry wolves smile, “Well I’m sure the respect is all in the interpretation. One with a cruel heart would interpret cruelly, and one with a kind one would be quite the opposite.”

“How philosophical of you, John,” Victoria said coolly, “You really have come a far way since the stables.”

This was turning into a disaster. Allison took the tense pause to clear her throat, earning herself John’s attention.

“It really is good of you to keep us for the month," she smiled sheepishly, "We’re pleased to be here.” John’s smile grew more kind, more genuine.

“And we’re pleased to have you here. Please, come inside, we have your rooms all set up. Stiles will escort you to your chambers.”

“I’ll be checking on you once your father and I are settled,” Victoria said with a meaningful stare in Stiles’ direction.

“I may be asleep by then,” Allison nodded as she stepped over and linked her arm with Stiles’ and shot him a warning glance, “If I am, I will see you in the morning.”

“Very well,” Victoria smiled lovingly, “Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night,” Chris said sweetly to his daughter before turning to Stiles with a much more stern tone, “Stiles.”

The two nodded their goodnights before taking off into the castle, disconnecting from each other once they were out of sight. For a while the only sound was the click-clack of shoes on stone, but as Allison expected, the silence didn’t last too long.

“It really is good to see you again,” Stiles said conversationally, “And not in the false pleasantries way, I really mean it.”

“Same to you. It’s been what, two years since I was last here?”

“Something like that. Hey, what was with that arm in arm thing? Don’t we usually avoid that kind of touchy feely stuff in front of the Majesties?”

“Mother caught on,” Allison complained, “She wants us to get along because she’s not changing her mind. After all these years, I’m inclined to believe in her stubbornness.”

“She is stubborn,” Stiles agreed, “No offence.”

“None taken, I guess. I mean, she’s my mom and I love her but…”

“Yea… I get it.”

“Listen, um,” Allison pursed her lips. “I know neither one of us really wants to do this, but thank you for being so good about it. For still being my friend.”

“Oh hey, it’s no problem," Stiles grinned, though it didn't quite spread over the rest of his features, "What are friends for if not to marry each other to prevent a bloodbath of a war?”

Allison smiled ruefully, “This really is the worst, isn’t it?”

“Yea,” Stiles nodded solemnly, “Yea it is. I mean, I suppose it could be worse, but it could also be a lot better.”

“Yea.”

The two stopped outside a large oak door, Stiles gesturing for her to go inside, “Your chambers.”

“Thank you,” she crossed the threshold, “I’ll need time to myself for tomorrow—“

“Say no more,” Stiles waved, “I’ll need time to stew in my own self pity before getting excited about wedding planning too, anyway.”

Allison nodded, “Thanks for understanding. I just really need to feel totally miserable before faking it for the people.”

“No need,” Stiles waved a hand, “I understand completely and am in full agreement.”

They stood awkwardly outside her room, both unsure what they were expected to do. Stiles chewed his bottom lip nervously before he leaned forward to place an almost mechanical kiss on her cheek. It felt… odd, like how she imagined being kissed by a brother might have been if she weren’t an only child.

“Uh,” Stiles leaned back, looking just as uncomfortable as she felt, “Good night, Allison.”

“Good night, Stiles.”

He took off down the corridor at a brisk pace while Allison closed the door. She leaned against the heavy wood with a feeling that she was more alone than she had ever been before. She fought back the tears, too proud to let them fall, and crossed the room to the window.

From there she could see the ascending moon, the waning porcelain was but a mere crescent of the fullness it had once been. The passage of time siphoned the moon of its gentle light and turned it into sugar, fated to slowly dissolve in an inky blackness until the entirety of its being had been consumed.

Allison sighed.

It was times like this she remembered Scott, and wondered how he would have felt if he was still alive. In another lifetime, she could imagine him proclaiming his love and finding a way to null the contract so that they could marry instead. In another lifetime, she might have been interested. But that had been an eternity ago. Now her thoughts strayed to someone with a face of twin citrine eyes and petal pink lips, all haloed by a cascade of strawberry blonde.

 

\--

 

Rhododendron the Horse pawed nervously at the ground. There was a human in their home. Humans almost never came in their home when the sun had disappeared. The human drew closer, and it was suddenly very apparent that this was no human. It might have looked human, but there was something sinister about it. Something unnatural that made the air spark with static and taste of metal.

Their home was wild with panic from their friends as the non-human carefully approached the one who took their former keeper’s child for runs. The non-human reached into its pocket and pulled out a handful of dust. It spoke a series of strange words, and blew.


	3. Through the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

The late summer sun was high and bright, gently warming the castle grounds below while a cool breeze swayed the leaves in the surrounding plant life in a careful dance. Water droplets from an earlier rain glistened on the grass and the petals of the last pretty flowers remaining in the gardens, while the dampened ground gave the air a pleasant earthy aroma. Overhead, birds ranging from sparrows to larks to nightingales sang their songs in perfect harmony.

Stiles ignored all of this in favour of wandering the grounds in low spirits and overall feeling miserable about his life. It’s not that he was miserable by nature, quite the opposite, but with the dreaded day approaching and no way out of this obligation, he deserved a little time to feel sorry for himself. He’d hardly noticed he was passing by the training grounds until he heard a familiar voice barking orders. Stiles stopped in his tracks to watch.

“Great work today, knights,” Jackson said, his voice strong and sure, “Now let’s try that again, but this time actually get some real training in. Harley, you’re up against Kyle. Mace. Noah and Caitlin. Flail. Emily, just keep Jared from emptying the contents of his stomach onto his armor again. Danny,” Jackson unsheathed his sword, turning it over so that the sun glinted off the blade before looking up to the knight in question and bobbing his brow, “you’re up against me. Swordplay.”

Danny smirked and unsheathed his own weapon as the other knights engaged in combat around them. He was a good knight, earned his place in the kingdom when he arrived an orphan at the young age of ten. Since Jackson’s family had taken him in, the two got along famously.

“Something tells me you want less ‘play’ and more ‘sword’, if last time is anything to go by,” Danny said looking down the length of his weapon at Jackson.

Jackson leveled his own sword, eyes like a predator looking for the best way to cripple its prey and a smile like a man who knew his battle was already won before it had even started.

"I had the advantage and I went for it. Besides, I barely dented your armor.”

“Maybe this time I’ll get the chance to return the favour.” The two lowered their visors and in seconds all camaraderie between them had vanished, replaced by cold determination to take the enemy down.

Stiles looked away and continued his lonely stroll. He’d never admit it to anyone, much less himself, but a part of him was jealous of Jackson. Not the egotistical, arrogant, overall horrible side, of course. No, he wanted to be strong, confident, and cut from the cloth of a leader. At the very least, he wouldn’t mind being somewhat competent with a sword.

Although, if Stiles was being truly honest with himself, the one he wished he was most like in the world was Lydia. She was a born leader, both compassionate and merciless. She could quiet a crowd just by walking into the room, and when she spoke, it was with such finesse and conviction that others were just compelled to listen. Her beauty was only outweighed by her presence and her intellect. She was, in essence, the very embodiment of perfection.

Stiles, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so impressive. He was too uncoordinated in battle and too… well, let’s just say that he couldn’t draw the proper sense of authority to effectively run a kingdom. Sure, he could plan and strategize, but what use was that when he couldn’t get anyone to listen they same way they did with Lydia, or even Jackson? Victoria was right about him. But at least when he married Allison there would be someone qualified enough to be in command. He could stand there and look pretty, be a good trophy husband.

He really needed to get out of the castle for a while. He was starting to feel nauseated and trapped and he just really needed to get out of there. After a cursory glance, he changed course and headed for the stables. He’d learned long ago that when he was in these panicky, anxious moods, it was best to just leave.

When the stable doors opened he felt like he could breathe again. His stallion nodded its head, hooves pawing at the ground in anticipation of a ride. Stiles ran a hand along its long bluish-grey neck and brushed part of its black mane out of its eyes.

“Hey there, Gotham,” he soothed as he looked around for his gear. Where was his saddle?

“Going somewhere?”

Stiles jerked in surprise, nearly toppling over as he spun again to see his nurse standing in the entryway, holding his saddle under one arm and her other hand resting on her hip.

“Melissa,” Stiles shuffled his feet nervously, “I didn’t expect to see you. Here. In the stables. H-how did you know where I was?” Melissa’s stance was firm, and her pulled back curls gave an impression of no-nonsense in conjunction with the stern set of face. But for all her disciplinary tells her eyes were soft and understanding. She sighed and took a few steps forward.

“Allison and her family arrived yesterday, where else would you be? Did you really think you could sneak away and I wouldn’t know about it?”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh, well, about that. I don’t—“

“Just be back before nightfall,” Melissa smiled, holding out the saddle for Stiles to take, “I’ll keep the Argent’s from getting wise to your disappearance.”

“A-are you actually letting me go?”

“Sweetie, it’s not like I have any power to actually make you stay.”

Stiles laughed, taking the saddle and started strapping it on his horse. Truthfully, Melissa probably could make him stay if she really wanted to, royal blood and hierarchy be damned. Still, there was no way he’d let her know that, even if she already kind of did. Melissa’s smile grew sad.

“Just,” she said, hesitantly, “just promise me that you’ll be safe. Don’t ride toward the mountains.” Stiles nodded solemnly. Though the mountains had remained silent in the years since the war, it was possible the wolves might still be there.

Melissa had been devastated when Scott had died, as overcome and broken with grief as a mother could be and more. Stiles could still remember joining her to share in the loss of one they both held so dear. There had been so much blood and savagery, there hadn’t even been a body found for a proper funeral. No grave to mourn by, so in the end all the two of them could do was mourn with each other.

As much as Scott had been a brother to Stiles, Melissa was a mother to him, and he a son to her. Stiles couldn’t bear to even let her think she would go through the same heartbreak again. He stepped forward and gently kissed her cheek.

“I won’t. I promise.”

 --

Stiles rode down the well worn trail he and Gotham had ridden a thousand times over, one that wound out through the dense forest near the lake to the North and back through the grassy plains to the East of the kingdom. The trees loomed over him, blocking out the noise of somewhat nearby villages and sheltering him from the midday sun, bathing the world in green.

The familiarity and seclusion of the path brought him a sense of ease that allowed him to let his anxieties just roll off his shoulders, down the folds of his billowing red cloak, and swirl behind on the path where they couldn’t bother him. Because they couldn’t. Not here. Not so far away from everything that dictated the course of his life.

He let Gotham take the reins (well, in a manner of speaking as the literal reins were still firmly in his hands), trusting in the knowledge that the horse always took them home, and allowed his mind to wander. He imagined a world where his mother as alive, not for the first time. What would his mother have thought about the engagement? Would she have been like his father, unwilling but unable to prevent it? Or would she be like Victoria and insist it was the right thing to do, feelings be damned? He shook his head. No, she would never think that way, especially given the circumstances of her marriage.

Trapped for hours in the confines of his own mind, it wasn’t until a harsh breeze died down, yielding to complete silence except for the _clip-clop_ of hoof on hard ground that Stiles grew aware of his surroundings. Something, he realized in the light of the setting sun, was very wrong. There was no way they had ridden this long at this speed without his horse complaining or simply dropping dead from exhaustion. Stiles slowed Gotham to a trot and looked around at the unfamiliar terrain searching for something, anything to explain what was going on.

There was no green. Only the brown of dead trees and darkened earth that suggested no life beyond a passing flock of birds flying high overhead. Even the path was gone, and the apprehension in Stiles’ gut turned to full on panic

“Okay, Gotham,” he moved to steer Gotham around, “let’s take a breather and head back.” The horse threw its head to the side but continued straight ahead. Stiles furrowed his brow and tried again, but Gotham resisted.

A snap from the left and Stiles whipped his head in that direction. A shadow disappeared behind a tree. His heart rate picked up and he pulled desperately at the reins. It was too quiet here, too devoid of life and too full of shadow. Still the horse marched on.

“Gotham, no. Gotham, turn around. Gotham. Gotham you will obey me this instant!” Yet the horse persisted. Stiles groaned and peered through the half-dead trees to see where exactly his horse was taking him. When he saw the mountains in the distance, his blood ran cold.

“Oh this is so not good,” he pulled the reins harder, ignoring the rustle of dead leaves to his right. Something was closing in on them. “Come on! We. Have. To. Turn. Back.”

A low growl reverberated through the forest and finally Gotham stopped in his tracks. As Stiles sighed in relief of this small victory, a pale vicious beast lunged forward, teeth like daggers and hair like the sun. The blur of claws and yellow seemed to be enough to shake Gotham from his trance-like state as he reared on his hind legs and whinnied in terror. Stiles fought to hold on to his horse and keep himself from falling backwards, when another monster presented itself, this one made of dark skin and glistening white fangs. Its feral cry sent the horse into a rampage, thrashing and finally dislodging its rider.

Stiles’ shoulder screamed with his sideways landing, but he had little time to process the pain as he rolled onto his stomach avoid being trampled by Gotham’s panicked escape. Lying on the cold, hard ground, Stiles could only watch his horse’s swiftly retreating form as it left him alone at the mercy of these creatures. He should have realized the trouble sooner.

The growls brought Stiles back to his predicament, drowning him in fear. He rolled onto his back and grabbed the hilt of the dagger strapped to his leg. Before he could unsheathe his only weapon, a pale hand grabbed his wrist. Stiles bit back a whine as claws bit into his skin and glowing yellow eyes bored into his.

His pounding heart beat faster when he realized the monster was _smiling_ at him. His skin crawled at the thought of something so vicious and animalistic could do something so human as smile. Stiles licked his lips and forced calmness into his expression to cover that fact that he was freaking the hell out in the worst possible way. He vaguely wondered if this was how Scott had felt all those years ago.

“You could at least give me a fighting chance,” he said more confidently than he felt, “Claws, teeth, and the fact that there’s two of you. You know, you really should learn the meaning of sportsmanship and a fair fight.”

The creature’s smile widened and it shifted before Stiles’ eyes. Gone were the dagger teeth, glowing eyes, and wolfish features that struck fear into his very soul. Instead, there were beautifully shaped brows, smooth feminine features, and the smile of an angel. The only signs of her true nature were her clothes, a shapely dark top accented in leather (which falling at mid thigh length over bare legs was more suited to being a notoriously short dress than a tunic), and the claws that still dug into Stiles’ wrist.

Her eyes flitted up to her companion, clad in similar attire that accentuated his broad shoulders and bugling muscle, the glowing of his eyes stark against the darkness of his skin. While the eyes and fangs struck fear into Stiles’ heart, they seemed to have the opposite effect on the woman beside him.

“I like this one,” she said in a smooth voice. “He has spirit.” Her companion glowered at Stiles before turning his gaze back to the woman, fangs receding enough that he could speak unhindered.

“The Beast King won’t approve. You know how he is, Erica.”

 _Beast King?_ Stiles thought in a panic. He’d thought all of the wolf nobility had been slain. If there had been survivors what did this mean for the kingdoms? Could they gain the resources for another massacre? The woman, Erica, returned her gaze to Stiles, earning back his attention. Her brown eyes were slightly mischievous as she reached out and softly stroked Stiles’ cheek, apparently pleased when he flinched.

“I don’t know,” she continued thoughtfully, “he might like this one. If not, I’m sure we could find some other use for him.” Stiles really did not like the sound of that. Not. At. All. Maybe there was some way for him to escape. There had to be, even if it seemed impossible.

Erica raised her once gentle hand. Blackness.


	4. Love and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Stiles' POV

Allison swung her sword down against the wooden target with all her strength. She did it again. And again. And again. And again until all the breath had gone from her lungs and she was left flushed and gasping. What was once a completely new target was now chipped away to half its original diameter and spread out on the grass below. The practice sword in her hand hadn’t fared much better. She wiped sweat from her brow, thankful for the cool breeze that teased her tied back hair, when she sensed someone coming up from behind.

“Well,” Lydia said as Allison turned to face her, “that was a little aggressive.” Allison stuck the ground with her sword and began taking off her gloves, smiling at her long time friend.

“It’s good to see you,” Allison said, the two wrapping their arms around each other warmly. It was too long, both the time since they were last together and the hug itself.

“Sorry,” she continued as they parted, “I’m a little gross right now.”

Lydia shook her head, brushing back a stray lock of Allison’s hair and wow, suddenly Allison was glad her face was already red.

“It’s fine,” Lydia smiled, bringing her hand back to cross her arms, “I’ve missed you. The last time you were here we barely spent any time together at all. We really need to see each other more often.”

“That won’t be a problem much longer,” Allison said, crossing her own arms and dropping her gaze, “I’ll be here a lot more now.” 

“Hey,” Lydia said softly. Her hand was resting over the violet fabric on Allison’s arm, both comforting and a little alarming in how intensely it made her feel. Lydia's smile was gentle, “I understand. I’d feel the same way if I had to marry him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but definitely not marriage material.”

“Well,” Allison smirked and met her friend’s gaze, “Let’s be glad it’s me then. It saves you from such a terrible fate.” Lydia laughed, though her eyes were sad.

“Then I should thank you. A brave warrior such as yourself saving me from the fate of life married to such a man as Stiles, son of Claudia. A man who nearly set the castle ablaze with a flippant swing of a clumsy hand. I can’t say I envy your position. It’s a very noble thing of you to do.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Allison said softly, “More than anything, it makes me feel weak. It’s like I’m losing this enormous myself and there's nothing I can do to stop from fading away into nothing. I can barely stand it.” Lydia hummed and flipped her hair back with the hand that had been resting lightly on Allison’s arm.

“Then I’ll have to do my best to distract you from your troubles. I may not be able to solve your problem, but maybe a walk around the grounds to catch up would help?” She gracefully held an arm out in invitation.

“Yea,” Allison beamed, looping her arm through Lydia's, “Though to be honest, it’s a little too easy for you.”

“What is?”

“You could distract me every horror in the world with nothing more than your smile. Now that’s hardly a challenge, is it?” The shade of pink Lydia turned at her words was the most beautiful colour Allison could imagine ever seeing in her lifetime.

“I suppose not,” Lydia spoke sweetly, “But challenge is hardly why I do so enjoy distracting you.”

“Oh?” Allison raised a brow, “Why do you?”

“Maybe I want to be there for my friend in her time of need,” Lydia’s smile grew mischievous, “Or maybe I just enjoy the rosy glow I bring to your cheeks.”

Allison felt her face grow warm and Lydia laughed, leaning closer to her friend, “Now, there are the dimples I know and love.”

 

\--

__

Swaying. Stiles didn’t know much for certain, but he knew he was swaying. Pain flared in his left temple. Another certainty. He was swaying and he was in pain. He tried sitting up only to find he was at least partway upside-down. Wasn’t this just magical?

Stiles opened his eyes to see a very muscular back and rocky terrain moving a little too swiftly underfoot. Like the one carrying him wasn’t entirely human. In an instant he remembered everything that happened and realized exactly where they were taking him. He struggled to remove himself from his position draped over a werewolf’s shoulder, but to no avail. The grip was too strong, his wrists and ankles had been bound, and being in such an awkward position meant he was doing a better impression of a fish out of water than effectively attempting to escape.

“Stop struggling,” the man said, tightening his grip around Stiles’ waist, allowing the pressure to speak the threat he didn’t need to voice. Stiles swallowed nervously, and partly to keep from expelling the contents of his stomach from the shoulder digging into his gut. Erica, meanwhile, giggled jovially on the man’s other side.

“Really, Boyd, it’s not like he could get away. In his state, the most he’d do is roll off the side of the mountain.”

The man, Boyd, relaxed his hold at the sound of her voice, “I’d rather not risk damage or death before the Beast King can assess him.”

“Hold on,” Stiles said, swearing as the bonds cut into his skin as he gestured, “Who in the _hell_ is the Beast King and why would he want me? Like really, why not just kill me and be done with it?” Erika leaned around Boyd and raised her brow.

“Do you _want_ us to kill you?”

“Well, no,” Stiles said, shaking his head as Erika pulled back and he lost sight of her behind Boyd’s shoulder, “But I’m still hoping you’ll be struck with such an overwhelming sense of mercy that you’ll let me run home screaming and we all forget this ever happened.” Erica giggled.

“Sorry there, Hero, but no such chance.” Stiles was about to say something else when a wave of nausea hit him with a sudden urgency. He groaned and fought the bile threatening to make an escape.

“If you throw up on me, I’ll reconsider my stance on risking damage,” Boyd said evenly. Stiles swallowed back, and nodded. Big mistake. The pain in his head lit up every square inch of his brain, but he managed to keep himself from vomiting.

“I’ll do my best,” he managed, knowing full well talking should not be a priority at the moment, “but no promises.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Erica said with a smile in her voice, “we’re here.”

\-- 

Stiles had been to the dungeons at home many times in his life. At first after having snuck down with Scott to look at the prisoners, but since then he went for lessons in criminal discipline. All of those excursions could not have prepared him for walking down a dark, damp cave lit with sparsely distanced torches and far too many stairs while two werewolves loomed so closely behind him that he could feel their body heat in the freezing air.

“So, uh,” Stiles whispered, wondering if the pounding of his heart was as loud to them as it was to his own ears, “What’s- what’s gonna happen to me?”

“Well,” Erica said thoughtfully, “The Beast King could decide he likes you and try to turn you. If your body doesn’t reject the bite, you’ll be like us. Part of our pack.”

“What happens if my body rejects the bite?”

“You die.”

“Oh… and uh, what happens if he doesn’t like me?”

“You die.”

“Okay, is there any way I can get through this, y’know, _alive?_ ”

“Make sure he likes you,” Boyd chimed in.

“Oh that’s real helpful Boyd, considering there’s a chance I’ll freaking die anyway!”

Boyd shook his head, suppressing a smile. Well, it was good to know he thought Stiles’ untimely demise was so amusing. At least he hadn’t ripped Stiles’ head off for backtalk… that was a depressing thought.

After what seemed like hours and several corridors later, they rounded a corner and the cave expanded out into a massive throne room with dozens of strategically placed, tall standing, wrought iron candelabras, giving the room the distinct impression of being on fire. If Stiles were paying closer attention, he’d notice every candle-bearing fixture was rooted into the smooth stone floor like trees so they were as immovable as the very mountain they resided in, or even the openings of the two other tunnels to his right and to his left.

Instead, Stiles’ gaze was drawn towards the man sitting on the ornate obsidian throne directly opposite from where Stiles stood. The man was without a doubt the Beast King he was told about, the fact written into every aspect of the man’s appearance from his handsomely sharp features, to his stony glare, to his overall menacing presence. The Beast King wore no crown, but a long cape of grey-brown fur, a pair of tight black trousers, and a black tunic with more adornments than Erica, Boyd, or the two guards standing on either side of the throne combined.

“Whoa,” Stiles said, feeling breathless and more terrified than he had ever felt in his entire life, “You all really have a flair for dramatics.” The Beast King tilted his head and pointed with his chin.

“Who’s this?”

“Trespasser,” Boyd said as he and Erica bowed with their necks bared, “Found him riding in from Stilinski lands.” They straightened up while the Beast King cocked a furious looking eyebrow.

“Stilinski lands?”

“Probably from one of the cities or even the castle,” Erica said, placing a hand on either side of Stiles’ shoulders, “Given how nicely he’s dressed. If he’d put up more of a fight, my guess would have been a knight.” Stiles shot her a sidelong glare.

Erica smiled at him and squeezed his shoulders pseudo-affectionately before letting her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes returned to her king.

“We thought he might make a good addition to the pack, should you decide he was worthy.”

“She thought,” Boyd nodded at her.

“ _We_ thought,” Erica nodded at him.

“We thought,” Boyd sighed reluctantly.

The Beast King looked from one to the other with what could be either fondness or irritation. Stiles couldn’t tell with the permanently etched scowl. Then the Beast King’s gaze found Stiles.

“Do _you_ think you’re worthy?” His voice had become smooth and calm, but Stiles couldn’t help but notice the undertone of a distinctly predatory and threatening nature that made it abundantly clear what was really being asked. Stiles licked his lips and shrugged.

“That depends on how you define ‘worthy.’”

“And how do you define it?”

“Well, not being a killer of innocent people, for one,” he said despite the rapidly growing part of himself that was begging him to shut up, “Y’know, generally people who are worthy of life don’t take one themselves. And for two, having some common human decency, though I doubt you have much experience with that—”

The Beast King interrupted with a low growl and Stiles fought the near-overwhelming urge to cower. He was a prince, for goodness sake. Princes didn’t cower. Wait, maybe that could help. It wasn’t like his situation could get any worse. Before he could open his mouth, the Beast King spoke.

“Kill him.”


	5. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

“What, no wait!“ Stiles pleaded as he spun to see Erica and Boyd in their monstrous forms, eyes glowing and claws ready to rip into his skin. He managed to back away a few feet before he tripped, landing painfully on the floor. He looked up at the two in sheer terror, his heart thrumming and trying to beat its way out of his chest as the wolves closed in, “Oh dear gods, I’m gonna die.”

“Stiles?” The familiar-yet-not-familiar voice broke through and both Erica and Boyd moved aside, giving Stiles a clear view of the entryway. His brain ceased function and his heart stopped. All the air seemed to disappear from the room as he took in the sight before him. There, eight years older and a good deal more muscular, looking both confused and fearful, stood–

“Scott?” Stiles said in a voice that was totally not too high pitched, and even if it was, he had a damn good reason. “What the h-? I- but- no. You... you’re dead!” Scott smiled that familiar-yet-foreign crooked smile and rushed over to offer Stiles a hand.

“Sorry to be such a disappointment.” Stiles stared at the kind hand as his brain slowly started working again. When he remembered where they were, he glanced quickly around the room. Both Erica and Boyd had bowed to Scott as they had to their sovereign while the Beast King himself studied Scott with a furrowed brow. This was too surreal. By all accounts, Stiles should be dead right now, or at least trying to heroically rescue his up-until-recently dead friend. Yet somehow, everything was on pause.

Stiles licked his lips and looked back to meet Scott’s now faltering smile. Hesitantly, Stiles accepted Scott’s help and was soon on his feet again. Once he was up, Scott ran his hands over Stiles’ body, checking for any sign of damage. It was a weird feeling, being felt up by a ghost from your past. Especially since the Scott in his memory had never been so... ignorant of personal space.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked urgently, “You’re not hurt are you?”

Stiles shook his head, grimacing at the pain and Scott carefully brought one hand up to the side of Stiles’ face, fingers grazing the edges of his bruises. The other hand found the claw marks on Stiles’ arm. Scott growled softly, and Stiles hoped that the sound didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, taking Scott’s hand away from his face and bringing it down to his friend’s side awkwardly, “I’m fine.” Scott leveled Stiles with a skeptical-yet-concerned gaze. Stiles huffed and vaguely gestured around them.

“Okay, no, I’m not completely fine, but given the circumstances I think some wear and tear should be expected.” He thought a moment. “I mean, as long as it’s not tear by ‘weres’, which is all too likely at the moment. I’ll be okay. Hopefully. Maybe.” Scott just stared at him, his brow creased and the corners of his mouth dipping down in disbelief, and then glared up at the Beast King with rage in his eyes.

“You were about to execute him?”

The Beast King regarded Scott with confusion, his next words slow and level, “I didn’t realize he was yours.”

“Yeah? Well, he is!”

“I didn’t know. You never talk about your human years.”

Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat and his head whipped over to Scott. Something in his chest clenched as he tried to reconcile the image of the soft spoken boy he knew, his brother, with the murderous creatures that caused so much pain and suffering in his land. It was impossible. Scott glared defiantly up at the Beast King.

“Well now you do,” he growled, “so I would appreciate you leaving him alone.”

“You know our laws, Scott,” the Beast King's voice dropped low and threatening. Stiles feared for Scott's safety.

“I don’t care!" Scott returned just as dangerously, "You can’t just kill him!”

The two stared at each other for so long it seemed to Stiles that time had stopped. Except for his own fidgeting, nothing dared to move. Even the candles seemed to have stopped flickering. The silence stretched as the apparent battle of wills raged on, to the point that Stiles was sure he’d go mad if someone didn’t start time again soon.

“Fine,” the Beast King conceded, leaning back in his throne, “I’ll give him until the next full moon to make me change my decision. Until then, he’s our prisoner.” Scott drew in a breath, but still seemed somewhat relieved. Stiles, however, wasn't so reassured.

“Hold on, no!” he said, taking a step toward the king while Scott reached out to pull him back, “Don’t I get a say? I didn’t even want to come _near_ these mountains in the first place! It was my horse that seemed hell-bent on getting me here, and now suddenly I’m supposed to wait around while you decide if you’re going to kill me or let some infection do it?”

The Beast King stared him down, clearly trying to reign in his anger for Scott’s benefit. How did Scott have this power over him?

“You’re not earning my favour talking like that. Learn your place.” Stiles opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when hands of inhuman strength pulled him a few paces back.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Scott interjected before Stiles had a chance to respond, “He’s just speaking out of fear.” Stiles balked, but Scott continued, “I’ll move him to a room in the East Tunnels. He’ll be better with time.”

The Beast King nodded, “Make sure it’s secure. I don’t want him or anyone else thinking that he can leave without consequence.” Scott nodded solemnly, adjusting his hold so that one hand was gripping Stiles’ shoulder.

“Thanks, really. You won’t regret this.”

“I already do,” the Beast King actually seemed exasperated, “Just get him out of here.”

Stiles was being steered towards the left tunnel with barely enough time to look around to see the wolves watching their retreating forms. His eyes briefly met the Beast King’s before he and Scott entered the tunnel.

Four turns later, and Stiles was completely lost. How did they navigate down here in near complete darkness? There weren’t nearly enough immovable wall mounted torches for navigation. But then, they had an unfair advantage with that.

The silence was pressing all around them except for the sound of their footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls, until Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

“So…” he began slowly, “you’re a werewolf now.”

“Yea, uh, have been for a while.”

Silence again. Finally Scott huffed a laugh, “Man, I never thought I’d see you again. This is so crazy.”

“Crazy isn’t exactly the word I’d use," Stiles said cooly, "Terrifying, confusing, completely-freaking-unfair? Those sound about right.” Scott’s smile deflated, and he nodded.

“Right, sorry. That was kind of insensitive.”

“Yea,” rage flared under Stiles' skin, “Yea it was. But I guess that’s kind of your thing now isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” Stiles said, trying to calm himself but failing, “I’m sure you have your reasons for never coming back and letting us think you were torn apart by rabid wolves.”

“Actually, yea,” Scott said defensively, “I have my reasons.”

“Care to tell me?”

“It’s… complicated,” Scott hedged, “I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“Fine,” Stiles conceded, “If you’re not going to tell me that, can you at least tell me what the hell happened back there? Because I’d really like to know.”

“That’s… also complicated,” Scott said uncomfortably. “Once Derek delivers a sentence–“

“Hold on,” Stiles said, putting his hand out so Scott would stop with him, “The Beast King’s name is _Derek?_ Seriously, _Derek?_ ” Scott grinned.

“What did you think it would be?”

“I don’t know, but with the title of ‘Beast King’ you’d think it would be something menacing like Lycaon or Fenrir or something actually threatening. Really, one of my _servants_ is named Derek.” Scott pursed his lips and urged Stiles to start walking again.

“I’d keep quiet about your, uh, your birthright if I were you.”

“What, why?”

“If they find out you’re a,” Scott hedged, “y’know, it might cause some problems. Especially after everything that happened during the war.” Stiles scoffed. This was ridiculous.

“You mean like countless innocent people killed or dragged off into the woods to never be seen or heard from again?”

“It wasn’t like that y’know,” Scott said earnestly. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what was is it?”

“It’s–“

“Scott, I swear to every power imaginable that if you say ‘it’s complicated’ one more time I’m going to kill you myself with one of these wall torches and make sure you stay dead. Permanently.”

“I wasn’t dead the first time.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Scott abruptly steered Stiles to the left and into a room about the size the servant’s quarters in his own castle with enough force to make him stumble.

“Whoa, what—“

“Look, I’m trying here okay?” Scott spun Stiles around, grabbing his shoulders a little too tightly, desperately, “You don’t even know—“

“Well maybe I would if you tell me!” Stiles tried to pull back, but Scott’s grip was too strong.

“I can’t!” Scott said as he loosened his grip enough for Stiles to properly throw the hands off his shoulders in indignation, “Look, I managed to buy you some time, but the way things work here isn’t like your kingdom, alright? There’s so many things about what happened that I want to tell you but I just can’t! But I can say this; once Derek delivers a sentence, that’s it. It’s law. This, going back on his decree is something that’s never happened before and really, I still don’t know if he’s not just going to change his mind and just kill you anyway so please, just, ugh! Just stop being so difficult!”

Stiles gaped at Scott, disbelief catching in his throat. Scott shifted uncomfortably, seeming ready to apologize but Stiles was not about to have any of it.

“Are you serious? I have every right to be difficult, okay! You don’t know what we went through when you left. Your mother was heartbroken! Allison was heartbroken! Hell, _I_ was heartbroken! Do you even care?”

“I—“

“I guess you don’t, though," Stiles' voice dropped into a deliberately hurtful tone, "Must be a monster thing.”

Scott reeled back like he’d been punched. Stiles almost felt bad until anger darkened his friend’s face. Scott abruptly crossed to the other side of the room while Stiles took a chance to look around his surroundings.

The room had a door that swung inwards, but from what Stiles could see, it was oddly constructed. Instead of a solid mass of wood, it was crafted from fairly thin planks crossing over each other so that it resembled a decorative fence more than a door. He could probably stick his head through the gaps if he really needed to. The handle was very bizarre in that there was only one on the corridor’s side and that it was a long, vertical bar of metal on a sort of hinge so that it could be rotated into a horizontal position. There must be a locking mechanism on the outside wall of the corridor. Overall not very secure, so maybe Stiles would be able to break it down if he was left alone.

Within the room, there was nothing with regards to furniture. As far as a bed went, in the far right corner (or as much of a corner as it could be with the slightly round walls) of the room was a mass of pillows and blankets, almost resembling a nest. In the corner nearest the door sat a copper pitcher, and the far corner was a sizable copper chamber pot. Well, at least he had that going for him. Just had to make sure he didn’t confuse them, especially since the room itself didn’t have a source of light except for the torch mounted directly across from the door.

The most notable thing, however, was the chain attached to the wall that Scott was currently picking up. Oh no.

“Wait, no!” There was a lot of scuffling and slapping hands, but soon the cuff was securely around Stiles’ ankle, keeping him from going further than the pitcher and certainly no further than a few paces from the door. Stiles jangled the heavy chain and it was clear that there was no way in hell he was getting out of it. Scott straightened up, from his place knelt in front of Stiles.

“There,” Scott said, uneven jaw set, “Now you’re secure.” Stiles glared.

“That’s one way of putting it.” _Trapped being another._

“Yea. It is,” said Scott tersely, “You know, I’m just trying to save you. I don’t have time for all this- this guilt over something I couldn’t help.”

“Well lucky you,” Stiles said sardonically, “Because the most you have to put up with it is a fortnight.” Scott let out a long, slow breath.

“Fine,” he said, storming out of the room. He pulled the door closed, his hands curiously only touching the metal as he turned the handle, and reached for a set of keys on his belt. His movements were careful yet strained, as though the wood was physically repelling him.

“How is that door really supposed to keep anyone in?” Stiles asked, his rage quelled temporarily by his intrigue.

“Mountain ash,” Scott replied, finding the correct key and locking the door in place, “I don’t imagine it would affect you like it would our typical prisoners but the chain should compensate.” He retied the keys to his belt and looked ready to leave. “Is there anything you need?”

“Yea,” Stiles bit back, “I want my freaking normal life back!”

A twinge of sadness crossed Scott’s face, but it was suppressed a moment later. It never quite did leave his eyes.

“If that’s it, I’ll just go.”

Then Stiles was alone.


	6. Meetings in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa and Derek's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be less frequent for the next little bit, but a least once a week I'll update.

Melissa paced the straw strewn stables, looking out the doors into the cold, rainy night every few seconds. When she’d come back when it had started to rain around dusk, she’d been expecting to see Stiles dismounting or Gotham secured in his compartment, but neither the prince nor the horse were anywhere to be seen. Then night fell along with the downpour, and Melissa’s apprehension grew exponentially as the hours passed. He was never out this late, not since he was ten and Melissa had lost her temper with him, scared she had lost him like she did her own son, and never in this weather. Where was he?

“He’s not back yet?” John asked and Melissa spun around, startled by his sudden presence. John’s hands rose in a calming gesture, droplets falling from his hands, as he walked slowly toward her.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Melissa took a calming breath, curling her arms around herself and her gaze dropping to her feet.

“You couldn’t frighten me more than he is right now,” she looked back up in time to see her king nodding with understanding. Melissa rubbed her hands over her arms to ward off the cold, “Where are the Argents?” John nodded back toward the exit.

“They retired to their chambers about an hour ago. Victoria was asking about Stiles.” A haunted look darkened the king’s face, and Melissa gently cupped his face in her hand, the dampened stubble of his cheek rough against her calloused palm.

“You’re not okay, are you?” she asked, the softness of her voice reflecting the gentleness of her touch. John rested a hand over hers and shook his head, meeting her gaze.

“He’s my son,” he said, his voice rough, “If something happened to him, I don’t know how I could survive. I barely made it after Claudia… I can’t lose him too.” Melissa nodded.

“Neither can I.”

John smiled at her and brought their loosely clasped hands into the decreasing space between them. With his other hand, he gently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Where his fingers touched skin left a tingling trail. His hand lingered by her ear a moment, and Melissa found herself speaking before she could stop herself.

“Maybe this is why it happened.”

“What do you mean?”

Melissa felt her skin begin to warm in embarrassment and shame, finding she couldn’t look her love in the eye, “Maybe… maybe the fates are punishing us for carrying on the way we have. The timing makes sense. We heighten our intimacy despite the delicate balance circumstances have placed on us, and a month later, Stiles doesn’t return. Maybe this is a sign we shouldn’t—“

“No,” John interrupted, much to Melissa’s confusion.

“No?”

John brought held both her hands in his and brought them to his lips, “The fates would never punish something so beautiful.”

“But two commoner born sharing—”

“I’m sure Stiles’ disappearance has nothing to do with us. It’s possible he got turned around after finding some kind of distraction and we’re overreacting. We just have to wait for him to return.” He nodded toward the door, “Why don’t you go rest? I can wait for him.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she shook her head of John’s soft words and focused, “It’s my job to care for him, I really should be here.”

“It’s fine,” he said softly, “he’s my responsibility too, and you need sleep.” He took a step back and gestured toward the door, “Go. Sleep, by Order of the King. I’ll send someone to wake you when he returns.” Melissa sighed with a soft smile and a nod, ignoring the warmth in her chest.

“As you wish, my love.” She curtseyed before taking her leave. As she rounded the door she heard him murmur with a soft reverence.

“Good night, Melissa.”

 

\--

 

Derek paced the empty throne room, orange light from the candelabras reflecting off the obsidian decor. This was not good. Scott had really pushed too far. To force him to disregard law and tradition… it was spitting on the legacy of his predecessors, of his mother, but Derek really had no choice. He needed to convince Scott to accept the offer, if he wanted his plans to come to fruition, he would have to play nice. But even then it wasn’t guaranteed. He’d already declined the title four times.

“Worried are we, nephew?”

Derek turned around to see Peter leaning against the stone doorway in the full regalia of the Royal Advisor. A black jacket with a high neck embroidered with crisscross patterns, woolen black stockings, and an ash gray stole. He even donned the traditional tempered steel livery collar. Derek huffed and went back to pacing.

“Overdressed are we, uncle?”

“Come now,” Peter pushed himself off the wall and casually strut towards Derek, “We all have those days we want to look a little special. Self confidence is paramount.”

“What do you want?” Derek halted to face his uncle, “I don’t remember asking for your advice.”

Peter stopped a few feet from Derek and raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face eerily still, “I only want to know what’s troubling my favorite nephew.”

Derek scowled and went back to pacing with an irritated huff. _Only nephew_.

“Scott,” he finally answered.

“Is he being difficult again?” Peter smiled and tilted his head, hands behind his back.

“You could say that,” Derek ground out, pausing to stare at the far wall. Finally he sighed, “He made me go back on a decree.” 

“Oh?” Peter queried disapprovingly, “Pray tell, dear nephew, what was the decree?”

“I... sentenced his childhood friend to death.”

There was a moment of silence, wherein Peter seemed to be processing exactly what Derek had said. Finally, the man spoke up.

“Well it certainly would be a shame to destroy a part of Scotty’s former life, especially given how little he’s revealed about it. And after all, an alpha should always renounce his authority and turn back on centuries upon centuries of tradition to cater to the needs of his successor. Oh, I’m sorry,” his cynical tone took on an air of smugness,“ _Potential_ successor. He hasn’t agreed to it yet, has he?”

Derek stopped to face his uncle and placed his hands on his hips, “You think I should kill the boy despite Scott?” 

Peter shrugged. “Who am I to say? I’m only your _humble_ advisor,” he bowed, face downturned, “I live only to serve The Alpha.” Derek growled at the subtle disrespect and began pacing again.

“It’s not so simple.”

“Things like this never are,” Peter straightened, leveling Derek with a cool gaze, “But they are necessary.” He started backing out of the room, one slow step at a time, “Take care of yourself, nephew.”

Derek paused to watch him leave. A little while after Peter had left, he started pacing again, his uncle’s words echoing in his head. It was morning when he retired to his chambers.


	7. Wolfssassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

Stiles had no idea what time it was in his dark, windowless room. All he knew was that he was cold, pained, hungry, miserable, and _bored_.

Lying on top of his overly soft nest of pillows, his right foot trembled restlessly against the stone floor. How long had he been here? Surely it had to have been two weeks by now. He hadn’t slept, he never could without his own pillow, and this level of exhaustion had to be a fortnight's worth of sleepless nights, right? Except that he’d been brought exactly one meal in all his time there and he was sure he’d be dead if it had been that long, or at least severely starved. Still, his father probably knew he was missing by now.

There was probably a war going on thanks to his absence. The Argents definitely wouldn’t take his leaving lightly, even if they knew it wasn’t his choice to be gone so long. How many would be killed in the war? Whose side would Allison take? Would his father be all right? What about Melissa? Jackson was probably seething with fury, if only because Stiles threw their land into turmoil with his absence. Lydia would need to calm him down. Oh god, Lydia. Would she be okay?

A scuffling thump from the hall brought him to his senses, and Stiles propped himself up on his elbows to see what happened. A bunch of purple flowers tied with brown twine lay on the ground outside his prison, green leaves stretched out like they were still searching for the sun.

Before he could blink, a scraggily man with dirt covered, gloved hands crawled into view, reached out, and roughly picked them up. His eyes were on Stiles before he could even process what the man had just done. The man blinked, looking around at the door of mountain ash, gaze returning to Stiles’. He raised a finger just shy of his chapped lips and shushed.

Stiles gaped wide-eyed at the man and nodded slowly. The man shot him a yellowed grin and stood up to continue his silent trek through the caves. When he was finally sure the man was gone, Stiles let out a breath of relief, but something still plagued him. The flowers… he’d seen that kind before but he couldn’t remember what they were.

They had to be significant, or else the man wouldn’t be sneaking around with them with that crazed glint in his eyes. Were they toxic? Probably, the man had seemed pretty sickly even with the gloves' protection. What the hell were they?

_Aconite_ , his mind supplied him. Wolfsbane. So that’s what it was. The man was an assassin! He needed to wear the gloves because the flowers were poisonous, especially to werewolves, and he couldn’t risk dying because he was on a mission to kill. But who was the target? Most likely it was Big Bad Beast King Derek. The thought sent a wave of happiness through his system. Then the wave stilled into apprehension. What if it wasn’t the Beast King? What if it was someone else who had some note? Someone who could change the laws with one plea to the highest authority in the mountains?

_Scott._ It was a long shot, but not one Stiles was going to risk by ignoring the possibility.

He leapt out of the mass of pillows, overstepping and crashing into the floor with a painful thud. He scrambled to his feet and walked as far as his chain would let him, then continued forward on his hands and knees until his body was still in his cell while his head was poking through one of the gaps in the door. He looked both ways down the empty corridor, debating on whether or not he should call out. On the one hand, he might alert the man to his warnings. On the other, waiting until one of the guards eventually sees him and come rushing could take forever. It might be too late.

“Hello?” he whispered into the empty hallway, “Hey, wolf-people!” This was stupid. Could they hear them? Could the assassin? This was so stupid.

Fortunately, a pale, curly haired guard in a scarf suddenly appeared around the corner and calmly strolled over to him. Thankfully, he waited until he was close enough to talk rather than shout.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Stiles looked up, slowly padding back until he was fully in his cell, on his knees with his hands in his lap, “I need to speak with Scott, preferably with as little fanfare as possible.”

“Why?” the guard asked, looking at Stiles suspiciously.

Stiles took a deep breath, “Because I want to apologize and tell him I was wrong about what I said yesterday.”

“You’re lying,” the guard said, disgust in his words, “and I don’t appreciate that. If you want to talk to Scott, tell the truth.” Damn, this guy was good, but there wasn’t time for this. He stood up, looked the guard in the eye.

“Because I think he may be in danger.”

The guard sized Stiles up, squinting as he looked into his eyes. Whatever he saw, it must have been enough. He nodded.

“He’s in his chambers. I’ll get him for you.”

The guard walked away and Stiles sighed in relief, running his hands through his hair and closing his eyes. What if Scott didn’t listen? What if he thought Stiles was trying to play tricks like when they were kids? Just because he was still furious with Scott, didn’t mean he wanted him dead. He went through that once. He wouldn’t go through it again.

Soon Scott was standing in the hall outside Stiles’ room, the guard at his side, with the worst excuse for a poker face Stiles had ever seen. Even his acquired wolfy wiles weren't enough to make him a closed book.

“What is it, Stiles?” Ugh, that tone. It was like he was trying to be stoic but his eternal hope was still trying to slide in. Well, if Scott were going to try with the stoic act, Stiles would have to show him how it’s done.

“Just thought I’d tell you a man came in through here with wolfsbane. Thought it might be worth telling you so you don’t risk dying again.” Scott blinked in surprise, poorly enforced mask falling.

“What?”

“A man. Looks like a gardener who took one too many trips to the tavern. He stumbled through here with a bunch of aconite flowers in his hand. I think he’s planning an assassination. Whether it’s you, Derek, or someone else, I don’t know.” Scott looked to the suddenly tense guard uncertainly, and back to Stiles.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Why are you telling me?”

Now that was the question. Stiles felt his own mask falling and he decided at that moment that the ground was a better view than Scott’s hesitant face. Should he try to lie or just say ‘fuck it’ and tell the truth? He took a deep breath. _Fuck it._

“Because you’re my best friend and I don’t think I could live with myself if I lost you again.” He looked up at Scott to see the poor boy searching Stiles’ face for signs of deception while confusion and regret sparkled in his eyes. It was kind of gross.

“Isaac?” Scott said slowly, not looking away from Stiles.

The guard, Isaac, leaned earnestly around Scott, “Yes?”

“Tell the guards to search the caves,” Scott finally met Isaac’s gaze, “Look for anyone who doesn’t belong. Keep it secret, don’t let anyone else know you’re searching.”

Isaac nodded, looking up at Scott like he was the sun and stars in a dark, desolate world, “Will do.”

The two then reached toward each other, right hands tenderly pulling the other close by the back of the neck until their foreheads touched while their left rested on the other’s hip. Their eyes were closed in a way that gave the scene a heightened intimacy, as if they were communicating their feelings directly with the other either through contact or simply breathing each other in. They stayed in this tableau for just a moment but it was enough to make Stiles feel like he was intruding on something.

The two broke away from each other and Scott gave Isaac a stern look, "Be careful."

Isaac laughed through his nose and smirked, "Aren't I always?"

Next he was running off down the hall, scarf bouncing with each step. Scott turned his attention back to Stiles as if nothing had happened. Well if Scott wasn’t gonna say anything, neither was Stiles. It was at that moment he realized they were alone and still in the aftermath of a falling out. It was awkward.

“Look, um,” Scott began, “I know you’re still mad. You have a right to be. I mean I basically abandoned you guys.”

“I know.”

“But,” Scott continued pointedly, “just know that I would have come back. If I could have come back.” Stiles nodded self-consciously. He knew he had every right to be angry, but maybe Scott was on to something by trying to see things from Stiles’ point of view.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “if you had come back, they’d have had to kill you. It was probably best you left.” Scott grinned solemnly and nodded.

“Yea.”

“Still doesn’t mean I’m not pissed.”

“I know.”

“But,” Stiles continued pointedly, “I should probably give you some credit. We were brothers, and I should have known that there’s no way you wouldn’t have come back if you had a choice.”

“Just like there’s no way you wouldn’t leave if you had a choice,” Scott conceded, “I’m sorry you’re in this mess.” Stiles nodded solemnly, his mouth stretching into a grin.

“I’ve missed having you as my moral compass.”

“And I’ve missed having to tell you how stupid you are,” Scott grinned back.

“You can’t say things like that to me,” Stiles said, remembering similar ‘arguments’ they’d had as kids, “I could have you beheaded.”

“Good, then we’d both be brainless.”

Their giggling dissolved into laughter, which dissolved into full-blown hysterics to the point where Stiles fell over from laughing too hard. Then their laughter renewed.


	8. Carnations and Captivations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Derek's POV

Morning light streamed through the windows, chasing away the remnants of night’s darkness and illuminating her chambers with soft light.

Lydia hummed as she ran an ornate silver comb through her hair and her reflection in the mirror smiled back. Yesterday had been wonderful. The whole day was spent with Allison, talking about everything and anything. Her smile grew when she remembered doing each other’s hair up in wildflowers and the way Allison had looked at her as she listened to Lydia name each flower and what they symbolized along with what season they grew best in. It was with such a quiet reverence that had nearly left her nearly speechless.

_“Wow, Lydia,” Allison had said, “You really know a lot about flowers.”_

_“Just what I’ve learned in my studies,” Lydia had smiled, “Botany is especially useful when it comes to poisons and medicine, both of which I think everyone should have at least some knowledge of, but sometimes it’s nice to see the beauty of them. To see the potential of what they could mean to someone.”_

_“The cold hand of science and the warm heart of poetry,” Allison leaned forward, her voice teasing, “You truly do live up to the scholarly reputation this kingdom has.”_

_“Why my dear Allison," Lydia posed as if she were about to dramatically fall faint, "I do believe you’re going to make me swoon.”_

_“I should hope you don’t, then I’d have to carry you all the way back to the castle,” Allison looked to the sky, “Which is where we should be going if we want to make it back dry. It looks like it’ll rain a little before sundown if the wind stays constant.”_

They hadn’t quite made it back to the castle before the first drops had started to fall, but Lydia hadn’t minded. The two had giggled as they raced through the threshold and into the stone corridors. Allison was lovely with water droplets clinging to her hair and color blooming over her skin from the chill.

There was a knock at her door and Lydia found herself back in her chambers seated in front of her mirror.

“Come in,” she placed her brush on her vanity and turned to the door. Jackson walked in with something he held hidden behind his back. Lydia stood and crossed the room with a warm smile, “Coming into the chambers of your intended unescorted, people might talk.”

He met her halfway and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. When he pulled back his lips quirked into a half smile as he presented her with a bouquet of red carnations, “I only wanted to deliver these beautiful flowers to my beautiful love.”

Lydia took the flowers, noticing up close the flowers had begun to wilt, but deciding to look past it in favor of kissing Jackson on the cheek, “They’re wonderful.”

She turned to find somewhere to put them. She had a vase around somewhere, not that Jackson gave her flowers often. Speaking of, “What’s the occasion?”

“I wanted to give you something nice before I broke the news to you.”

Lydia turned back to Jackson, something dark settling in her stomach “What news?”

Jackson gently took one of her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Stiles is missing.”

“I…” Lydia didn’t know what to say. Stiles was missing? She knew he’d gone for a ride and that he had been out late, but he should have been back.

“Have you arranged a search party?”

“Yes, but with the rainfall from last night, we haven’t yet been able to find his trail.”

Lydia nodded, “Have the stable hands been questioned?”

“Of course," Jackson said in harsh annoyance, "I’m not an idiot.”

“And the Argents?”

“They haven’t been informed, but we can’t keep it secret much longer.”

Lydia paced the room. Stiles wouldn’t have run off. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t a coward. There was no way he would ever, could ever, do something like that to his kingdom. To his father. And he wouldn’t so unbelievably stupid as to go anywhere near the mountains. Something had to have happened.

“Go to the local taverns and ask around. If he was attacked or captured, someone should have seen it happen. The shopkeepers and merchants might be useful too if someone tries selling off his things. Of course, there might be some who want payment for their information, so be sure to bring a coin purse and a sword. Trouble might be there to greet you.”

“I was already planning on doing all that,” Jackson rolled his eyes, but the reddening of his ears told a different tale, “But thank you for your input.”

“No need to thank me,” Lydia kissed him on the cheek and guided him toward the door, “Just find him.”

When Jackson left, Lydia allowed herself a moment of weakness. Would Stiles be alright? Would they find him before they had to tell Victoria? What sort of condition would they find him in, if they found him at all? Lydia wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that.

She looked down at the bouquet still in her hand. She needed to find a vase.

_  
_

\--

 

“So,” Derek said, leaning casually on his elbow from his place on the throne, hoping he looked bored, not tired, “what exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

The rogue omega glared up at him from his place on the floor, two guards on either side of him, but there was no heat behind it, “I was trying to do my damn job.”

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“You have a lot of tenacity for someone about to receive a death sentence,” he leaned forward in his seat, eyes glowing red, “Who hired you?” The omega gulped nervously, eyes determinedly staring at the floor, but said nothing. Derek leaned back in his throne again.

“Doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one dying. Why don’t you take your employer down with you?”

“What can I say?” the omega shrugged ruefully, “I’m a loyal man.”

 “Seems like an unusual quality in an omega,” Derek narrowed his eyes, “Don’t you think?”

The omega glanced to the to the side before looking back up to Derek, “Full of surprises, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Derek turned to his right, where Scott stood with his arms crossed and brow furrowed in concentration, “What do you think, Scott?”

“Uh,” Scott glanced up at Derek, apparently breaking himself out of his reverie. He looked around Derek to where Peter stood with his hands clasped behind his back and an expectant smile on his face, and then back up to Derek,  “We should take him to the lower levels of the East Tunnels. Give him time to confess.”

Derek nodded and turned back to his guards, “If he talks, report to me immediately. He has two days before we execute him for the crime of treason.”

The guards bowed, baring their necks in submission, before manhandling the rogue omega to his feet and roughly dragging him from the room. Once they were gone, Derek sighed and leaned back in his seat. God, he was exhausted.

“You could have persuaded him to give you information,” Peter said, speaking for the first time since the hearing began, “I’m sure under the right circumstances, he’d tell you everything.”

“We don’t do that,” Derek rubbed his eyes then glanced to the man with conviction, “that’s the one thing we will never do. Either he’ll tell us everything or his employer will just have to try again.” Peter tutted.

“It would be safer for you to find the employer first, through any means necessary.”

“This man planned to kill, not torture. It wouldn’t be right.”

Peter shrugged, “It’s your kingdom to do with as you wish, nephew. I wouldn’t want to get in the way. Only stating the obvious.” Derek shook his head and ignored his uncle by turning back to Scott.

“Thank you for finding the rogue,” he said gratefully, “I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t started a search.” Scott shook his head modestly. The abrupt change in subject had a profound effect on Scott, muted excitement flickering in his eyes

“I’d love to accept that, but I can’t.”

Derek looked down at the boy in confusion. Yes, he was modest, but Scott was always gracious when receiving commendation. He never denied praise when it was offered, especially not when he deserved it.

“Why not?” he asked tentatively.

Scott never was good at hiding his emotions, and the smile he’d been holding back shined with the intensity of the sun, “Because it wasn’t me who started a search. Well, I did, but he was already to the kitchen before we even knew he was there. I only started the search because Stiles told me to.”

“Stiles?” Peter questioned, only to receive a glare from Scott. Despite the animosity directed his way, Peter kept a pleasantly bewildered smile on his face, “Your old childhood playmate?”

“Yes,” Scott snapped before looking up at Derek earnestly, “You’d be poisoned right now if it hadn’t been for him.”

“Why would he do that?” Derek asked, brows drawing together. That shouldn't be right.

“Yes indeed,” Peter smiled, “why would he do that, Scott?”

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Scott said wholeheartedly, ignoring Peter, “You just need to get to know him.” Derek narrowed his eyes. The beating of Scott’s heart didn’t tell of dishonesty, but unlike humans, a werewolf could control their pulse.

“If you’re lying to get him in my favor…”

Scott shook his head, “I swear on the moon, this was all Stiles.”

Derek considered Scott at length, and finally nodded. He may not believe that the human would stop the assassination of his captor, but if Scott said it had to be true. It had to have at least some sense of credibility. Perhaps it was time to give the human the chance to prove himself.


	9. The Deigning Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

“He wants me to what!?” Stiles gaped incredulously, “Are you insane? No. Absolutely not! Not even if he comes down here himself and drags me by my feet down the hall with his freaky claw hands while I kick and scream until my throat bleeds. No.”

“Stiles,” Scott said placatingly, “Calm down, it’s just dinner.”

“Yea, with the wolf with death for eyes who almost had me killed yesterday!” Stiles gestured wildly for emphasis, “Who could still have me killed today! Who could kill me himself! In multiple ways! With his teeth! Can you not see why I’d be a little apprehensive?” Scott sighed.

“Can you please stop treating werewolves like we’re some kind of abomination? Remember when you thought they were amazing?”

Stiles crossed his arms. Of course Scott would bring that up.

“First of all, I was barely knee high to a horse and I thought a lot of things were more amazing than they were, you included,” Stiles took a certain pleasure in the false offence that crossed Scott’s face, “And second, that was _before_ my lands were decimated and my brother taken away from me. Forgive me if I show a little bias.”

Scott was about to counter argue, but Stiles held up a hand to silence him, “And please don’t say it’s ‘complicated’ or ‘not what I think’ because I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate this whole never getting an explanation thing. I get that you can’t or won't tell me certain things, but blind trust is pushing my limits here too.”

“Sorry,” Scott nodded in understanding.

“How do I know he isn’t just going to eat me?”

Scott looked Stiles up and down, a hand thoughtfully placed against his crooked chin, “Hmm, I don’t think you’d go down very well. Too lean and probably gamy.”

Stiles scoffed, crossing his hands over his chest, “Am I really nothing more than a piece of meat to you? Because if I am, I’m _way_ more quality than you’re making me out to be.”

“Hey,” Scott raised his hands defensively, “you’re the one asking stupid questions. We don’t actually eat people, you know.”

“Well I know _you_ don’t, but no one gets the title of ‘Beast King’ without doing some beastly beast deeds. People-eating should definitely rank high on that list.”

“I swear he’s not going to eat you,” Scott said assuredly, “At least not without the proper seasonings.”

“You are a horrible, horrible person. I hope you realize. _Horrible._ ”

“Learned from the best,” Scott smiled brightly, only to have it falter a moment later, “but seriously, you’re going to be perfectly fine. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not even him.”

Stiles nodded, hoping his friend was right.

“Thanks, Scott.”

 --

Being led down to the dining hall, Stiles wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t going to be eaten alive by a bloodthirsty werewolf. So naturally he was pretty apprehensive when the tunnel opened into a cave that was almost empty except for several standing candelabras, like the ones in the throne room, and a long oak table placed in the dead center of the room with twelve matching chairs placed evenly around. Derek stood at the head of the table on the far end, a hand resting on the back of his chair.

Stiles hesitated in the doorway before taking a tentative step into the room, all too aware of the fact that his escorts took up positions at either side of the exit.

“Uh,” Stiles hedged, “aren’t you coming in?”

Neither guard dignified him with a response. They simply stood uselessly at attention on the room’s exterior. Stiles licked his lips and turned back to the Beast King. After a few moments to build his nerve, Stiles drew himself to his full height and strode to the table with as much grace as he’d been taught to walk with. Not that the lessons particularly stuck, but he knew when presence mattered. Approaching a potentially vicious monster? Best not to show weakness.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Derek said coolly while Stiles approached.

Stiles in turn, nodded and stood strong next to the chair opposite Derek’s, “Well I had some free time so I thought I might as well get to know my captor.”

Derek actually had the nerve to smile. A tense, angry smile, but a smile nonetheless. Shaking his head, he gestured for Stiles to take a seat before doing so himself. Once seated, Stiles glanced over the empty table, then met Derek’s gaze.

“So are we actually going to be eating or are you going to continue your streak of being the worst host ever?”

“Our food will be brought out shortly,” Derek said, leveling Stiles with a look that wasn’t particularly angry, but held a note of warning, “but the waiting gives us a chance to get to know each other a little better.”

“I have felt a bit of distance between us,” Stiles said dryly.

“Why did you warn Scott of the rogue?”

Wow, straight to the point then. Stiles supposed he could respect the bluntness. It wasn’t like he was really in the mood for pleasantries in the midst of all this unpleasantness. Still, this was the monster that kept him imprisoned, no way was Stiles not going to be difficult.

“Because I couldn’t bear the thought of my executioner being hurt in any way,” he said sardonically, “Why the hell do you think?”

“I would appreciate a little courtesy from you, human.”

“I could say the same to you, wolf.”

Derek sighed and leaned back in his seat, a look of contemplation on his face, “You don’t really want me to like you, do you, Stiles?”

“I actually couldn’t care less,” Stiles answered truthfully, “it’s not like you’re going to let me live in any case, so why waste the energy? Besides, it’s not like I really care what a murderer thinks.” At that, Derek sighed in frustration.

“I’m really trying here for Scott, but—“

“Yea, why is that exactly? I mean really, you’re the Beast King and you’re taking orders from Scott ‘I-walked-face-first-into-a-horse’s-ass’ McCall. Doesn’t exactly add up to me.” A look of either confusion or disgust crossed Derek’s face.

“He really did that?”

“Yep,” Stiles smiled at the memory despite himself, “Nearly got a good kick for it too. The whole thing set off his breathing illness pretty bad, but once he caught his breath we laughed about it.” Derek just stared.

“I never heard that story before.”

“I can’t imagine you would’ve. It’s not exactly his proudest moment, but it’s one that I’ll treasure forever.”

“Sounds like you two were quite close.”

“Like brothers,” Stiles said. There was a tightness that crossed Derek’s features at the word. Interesting. Stiles made like he was admiring his nails as he casually said, “I don’t suppose you two are too close, now are you?”

“That’s really none of your concern.”

The veiled aggression in Derek’s voice was simply glorious. This must really have been a sore spot for him, especially given how hard he seemed to be trying to stay in Scott’s favor while keeping within his authority as king. His next words surprised Stiles.

“He’s the reason you told,” Derek said as though coming to a realization, “You were worried the wolfsbane might have been for him.”

Stiles shrugged, eyes still down and fingers fidgeting with the edges of his cape. He really needed a change of clothes, ones that weren’t stained with dirt and his own blood.

“You could say I was concerned. I’d already lost him once, a second time would just be redundant.” The silence stretched so long that Stiles felt compelled to meet Derek’s gaze again. What he found was something almost akin to sympathy. Again, the whole permanent angry eyebrows thing made it difficult to tell.

“That’s very loyal of you,” Derek said finally, leaning forward in his seat and clasping his hands on the table, “Scott’s lucky to have such a good friend even after all these years.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ just didn’t seem appropriate given the circumstances, but not saying anything didn’t feel right either.

He couldn’t worry about that anymore because thankfully the wait staff entered with several plates of food, ranging from roast pigeon to rabbit to slabs of meat to leafy greens that Stiles wasn’t too sure were really edible. All in all, it was a good spread, but pretty mediocre for the royal standard Stiles was used to seeing.

A servant placed a pitcher in front of Stiles while another delivered a chalice, plate, and other utensils. Stiles absently nodded his thanks and began helping himself to whatever was in his reach. When he looked up to Derek, he noticed the werewolf’s raised brow at the height of the pile on Stiles’ plate.

“What?” Stiles said with feigned innocence, “You try being held captive. See how you do. And besides, shouldn’t you be eating this much too, what with the whole animal thing you have going on?”

“The law of nature is ‘eat when you’re hungry’, not ‘gorge yourself’,” Derek responded, “And I should because I use more energy. You, on the other hand, are going to make yourself sick.”

“And you’re suddenly concerned about my well being? You wanted me dead not twenty-four hours ago.”

“To be fair, you came into my mountains and disrespected both me and my people. Territory and pride are two things we hold in the highest regard, and you managed to violate both.”

Stiles bit back his defense that he didn’t even want to come to the mountains in the first place. It wasn’t like Derek had listened last time anyway. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Fine. Temporary truce?”

Derek blinked in surprise. After a moment, a small smile graced his perfectly shaped lips as he nodded, “Temporary truce.”

“Great!” Stiles said as he speared his pigeon with a knife, “So what’s the deal with Scott? Why do you care what he thinks?”

“If you want the truce to continue, pick another topic.”

“Fine,” Stiles took a large bite of his very bland pigeon, “So do you have an actual crown or do the permanent angry eyebrows tell people you’re the Beast King?”

Derek glowered, shoulders rising in a similar way to hackles on an aggravated wolf. Stiles smiled, his cheeks puffed out with food. Derek rolled his eyes and let his shoulders drop.

“There was a crown,” he said as he began to pile food onto his own plate, “It’s a relic now. It burned with my mother.”

Stiles forcefully swallowed what remained in his mouth, nearly choking from the effort, and stared at Derek. The Beast King took a bite from his own bird, a much more civilized bite than Stiles had managed, and kept his gaze trained on the table in front of them.

“Oh, I uh,” Stiles blinked away the choking tears from his eyes and self-consciously licked his lips. He knew the look in Derek’s eyes. He’d felt it on his own face whenever he thought of his own mother, now dead when she should have been alive, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“I know it wasn’t intentional,” Derek cut him off with a dismissive wave, “There’s no need to apologize for that.”

“Oh… good,” Stiles nodded, getting back to his food, “Now I kind of regret being a little bit nice to you.” There was a snort and Stiles jerked his attention back to Derek.

“Did you just—“

“No,” Derek said, face suspiciously blank, “Get back to your pigeon.”

“Are you just—“

“Yes, now get back to your pigeon.”

Despite himself, Stiles smiled.


	10. Antagonism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King and Stiles' POV

“What do you mean Stiles is  _missing?_ ” Victoria spat incredulously. The golden light of the setting sun streamed though the windows of her spacious chambers and reflected oranges and yellows off the sparkling embellishments of the shimmering smoky grey of the queen's dress. Altogether they gave her the illusion of having been set aflame which mirrored the fiery rage in her otherwise cold eyes.

John rubbed the back of his neck, trying for the moment to remember that he was a king and shouldn’t let the domineering presence of the queen make him kowtow to her will. It wasn’t like there was much he could do in any case.

“As I said,” John drew himself to his full height, “he hasn’t returned from his ride yesterday. I’ve sent out patrolmen to scour the area for signs—“

“This is an insult,” Victoria interrupted, “I’ve no time or patience to listen to these _excuses._ He will be here in time for the wedding or you’ll be responsible for the second decimation of your wife’s kingdom.”

“Victoria, there’s no need for war.”

“There had better not be,” the queen said harshly, “I will not have waited in vain to fulfill the terms of our protection, all because some prince with commoner’s blood decided to put himself before his kingdom.”

John fumed with anger.

“He wouldn’t have done that. If he hasn’t come back, it’s because something happened, not because he’s run away. He has the blood of a great monarch in his veins. He could never be any less than what his people deserve.”

Victoria chuckled, “Well, then I suppose his people aren’t deserving of much, are they?”

“Don’t talk that way about my son,” John said in a tone far more dangerous tone than he intended, paternal protectiveness briefly making him forget to whom he was speaking. Part of him was mortified, but another part was too enraged to care.

“Then make sure he’s returned by month’s end,” Victoria returned, matching his antagonism, “Close the door on your way out.”

John didn’t bother with a retort, instead storming out of the room, the deep red of his cape billowing behind him as he purposefully left the door wide open and trekked back to his own chambers. Once he was alone, the king began to weep.

 _Oh gods,_ he thought desperately. _Please, let my son be okay. Please let him come home safe._

\--

 

“How did it go?” Scott bounced up from his place sitting just outside Stiles’ cell and asked as the nameless werewolves who had acted as his escorts earlier led Stiles back.

“Whoa, were you waiting for me this whole time?” Stiles asked, stepping into the prison and stood in position for the guards to cuff his leg again. Scott shrugged.

“I may have been a little worried.”

“Right,” Stiles said as the guards checked the cuff and left the room to lock the door, “well it’s good to know how much confidence was in your ‘everything will be fine’ speech.”

“Well it was fine, wasn’t it?”

The lock clicked and after a bow to Scott, the guards left them alone. Stiles considered how dinner went, and found that it was actually quite pleasant. Well, as pleasant at it could be with the circumstances being what they were and the fact that Stiles did most of the talking. At least he had something nice to look at, if not something that hadn’t tried to rip his throat out with its teeth.

“Yea, actually,” Stiles said, surprising himself, “I mean, it was awkward and he wasn’t the best conversationalist, but it went well. He didn’t try to kill me anyway.”

“That’s great!” Scott said, clearly relieved, “I’m glad he likes you.”

“Whoa, since when is ‘not killing me’ the same as ‘he likes me’?”

“Just being optimistic,” Scott said sheepishly, “Your best chance is if you get him to like you, remember?”

“So people keep telling me,” Stiles sighed, letting his gaze fall to the floor, “I just can’t get my brain and my mouth to cooperate. You remember from the old days and I've certainly proved my lack of control now. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be able to go home when this is all over anyway, so it’s like, what’s the point? Either way my life is effectively over.”

Scott grew quiet and when Stiles glanced back up, the look on Scott’s face made him want to kick himself. He was so preoccupied with himself, he kept forgetting Scott must have gone through the same thing when he… changed. Well not quite the same thing as Scott never had the weight of a kingdom's future resting on his shoulders, but close enough. They were quiet a moment before Scott spoke up.

“So, I never did ask you. How were things when I left?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did she take it? My mother, I mean.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say. How did she take it? Well, the first year she cried constantly when she thought he wasn’t listening. Sometimes she would stare into nothingness and someone would need to repeat her name before she would snap back to reality. The one time Stiles had accidentally called her ‘mother’ she had broken down and wept, even as Stiles had wrapped his arms around her and let his own tears fall. He'd never called her that again. Even when she was at her happiest, there was something intrinsically sad about her. Needless to say, she hadn’t taken it very well, still isn’t taking it very well. _And now I’ve added to that._

“Uh…” Stiles said, realizing he should at least say something, “well, not good. She, uh, she went through a lot when it happened.” Scott nodded solemnly.

“And, uh… and Allison?” Wow, Scott really knew how to pick his questions. This could get really awkward really fast.

“Oh,” Stiles began, unsure, “uh, it’s complicated?”

“What?” Scott said nervously, “What d’you mean? Is she all right? She didn’t die or anything, did she?”

“It’s okay,” Stiles assured, “She’s fine. Beautiful as ever and scary as anything with a sword. It’s just… complicated?”

“Oh,” Scott said in confused relief, brows furrowing, “Huh. The ‘it’s complicated’ thing really is annoying.”

“Right?” Stiles nodded enthusiastically, “Now you understand my plight.”

“Understood,” Scott smiled, holding his hands up defensively, “No more ‘it’s complicated’, promise. Though, there are still some things I can’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.”

“But she is okay?”

“As far as I know she’s perfectly fine and probably chopping some poor guy’s head off.”

Scott laughed, then immediately tensed. He tilted his head to the side as if he heard something. Whatever it was couldn’t be good. Nervously, Stiles leaned forward to see what was happening. A few moments later, a guard rounded the corner with a mass of black in his arms and a tense expression on his face. Scott stepped closer to Stiles’ cell, irritation crossing over his face.

“Why are you here, Ethan?”

The guard, Ethan, stopped a few yards away from Scott and bowed, his throat exaggeratedly exposed and his eyes trained directly on the floor. Everything about him seemed to scream submissiveness, even to someone as human as Stiles, and yet Scott’s defensive air didn’t diminish. Ethan straightened but did not move closer.

“I came by Order of the Beast King,” he said and glanced at a suddenly terrified Stiles, “to invite the prisoner to dine with him again tomorrow night.”

Stiles blinked in shock. Sure, he thought dinner went well, but he assumed that Derek thought it a waste of time. He'd been pretty quiet most of the time. A quick glance at Scott showed similar surprise. Apparently Scott wasn’t as confident in his optimism as he’d been letting on.

“He also ordered me to deliver these,” Ethan said, holding out the items in his arms, which Stiles suddenly recognized as a bundle of clothes similar to the all black ensembles that seemed to be in fashion among werewolves.

“Here,” Scott held out his hand and caught the bundle when Ethan tossed it, “now get out.”

Ethan nodded sadly and bowed again before taking his leave. When he was out of sight, Scott shook his head and started to unlock the door.

“What was that about?” Stiles asked as the door opened and Scott handed him the bundle.

“I don’t trust him,” Scott said, looking back down the way Ethan had left.

“Why not?”

Scott hesitated, “He and his brother are from another pack.”

“ _Another_ pack!?” Stiles gaped, “What, there are _more werewolves?_ ”

“Well,” Scott hedged, “not technically.”

“Technically?”

“They left shortly after the..." Scott hesitated but pushed on, "the war. Then Ethan and Aiden returned. Derek let them join on condition that they, uh, listen to me.”

“Listen to you, why? What’s his deal, is he like trying to make you his successor or something?”

Scott pursed his lips and glanced down at the floor.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Stiles gaped, “What, can’t he produce any heirs? Does he like, what, not have a mate or something? Why does he want you for a successor? I mean no offence, but you don’t exactly seem eager for the position.”

“I’m not,” Scott smiled, “and that’s not exactly how things work around here. Titles aren’t inherited by birth, it’s... well Derek could probably explain it better. I try to stay as far away from it as possible.”

“Yea,” Stiles laughed, “because Derek is just oh so eager to share things with me.”

“Point taken,” Scott conceded, “Alright, well, how it works is that the Alpha, um, the person in charge I suppose. There’s a lot more to it than that. Anyway, they choose their successor based on who they think is most worthy of command. When the Alpha passes, the new Alpha takes the throne and chooses their title. There are exceptions, like if someone directly challenges the Alpha and wins, or if the Alpha dies without an elected heir, which is why Derek is trying so hard to convince me to accept the position, but I’d rather not be involved with any of it.”

“Huh,” Stiles laid his hands on his hips, “So Derek actually chose the title ‘Beast King’? It’s not inherited?”

Scott laughed, “Okay, out of all of that, you zero in on the name?”

“Well, no, I mean there’s a lot with that and I’ll get around to it, but why Beast King? That would be like me choosing the title of the Human Emperor or something,” something in his chest tightened, “assuming I live long enough to still next in line.”

“Keep it down,” Scott whispered with a quick glance back out the door, “you’re supposed to be keeping your lineage secret, remember?”

“Right, right,” Stiles said quickly, “Why is that again? I know it has something to do with complicated things, but what’s the gist?”

Scott checked the door again, head tilted like he was listening for something, before earnestly locking eyes with Stiles.

“Derek… he doesn’t trust your family. Specifically your parents. They allied themselves with the Argents during the war and I know it’s impossible for you to understand without knowing the whole story, but the fact that they stood by while the attempted genocide of our species raged on rattled him. If he knew who you were I don’t think he’d hesitate to take it out on you. I trust him for the most part, but I can’t risk him sacrificing his need to please me for his need to take revenge.”

Stiles let his gaze drop to the floor, unsure what to do, what to say. He still thought it was warranted, given the fact that so many humans had died, but now he was beginning to… well not lose confidence in his beliefs but to realize that maybe there was another side to consider. Then he remembered the pain of losing his mother and Scott, and that fact that he was currently in a jail cell. He quickly squashed his realization before it could bloom.

“In that case I’ll have to make sure he never finds out, now won’t I?”


	11. Wilt and Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Allison's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is heavily implied that Lydia and Jackson did the do... nothing close to explicit, but you have been warned
> 
> Also I haven't had much time for editing so please let me know if you find a mistake

“Oh, wow,” Lydia gasped as Jackson rolled back onto the bed. Her skin was tingling with the fading pleasure that had turned her skin into lightning and her breath into fire, “you’re certainly… enthusiastic.”

“Have I a reason not to be?” Jackson said, propping himself up on his side and looking down at her with a hungry smile, “I’ve got a woman in my bed whose hand I’ll take and I’ve proved myself once again to be the best on the field in training. I’m on top of the world.”

“Are you?” Lydia said curiously and mirrored his pose.

“I ask again,” Jackson raised an eyebrow, “Have I a reason not to be?”

“Seriously,” Lydia smiled and playfully kicked his leg, “what’s gotten into you?”

Jackson shrugged, “Just seeing the big picture and how to make the best of it.”

Lydia felt her smile fall as her brow creased, “You’re not a even a little worried? The future of this kingdom hangs in the balance. Our prince is missing, possibly captured by some tortuous vagabonds.”

“And?”

“And… how can you not be worried? We could be going to war.”

“Yea, your friend made sure of that.”

“I know you don’t like him,” Lydia began slowly, suddenly defensive, “but as a knight, shouldn’t you be concerned for your prince? He could be dead.”

“Concerned?” Jackson snaked his free hand around Lydia’s waist under the covers, “He ran off like the panicky little princess he is. I’m sure wherever he is he’s just fine. If he weren’t, my knights would have found something. Speaking of, I’ve trained the finest army out of all the surrounding kingdoms. I myself happen to be the best of them all. So no, even if we go to war, I’m not worried.” Lydia grasped his hand and moved it back into the space between them.

“You do realize people die on the battlefield. There are variables no one can predict and the Argent warriors have been trained since birth to be… well, warriors. I mean have you seen Allison on the training field?”

Jackson smirked and intertwined their fingers as he spoke, “I have faith in my knights and our strategies. Not even the fates themselves could sway the outcome should we go to war.”

“Faith and strategy aren’t enough,” Lydia said, disbelief clouding her tone, “People die in war, Jackson. Knights, merchants, farmers, _children_. You should care about that.” Jackson exhaled sharply through his nose and took his hand back.

“Look, it’s not my fault Prince Incompetent decided to take a holiday and leave us in this mess. Now, I know my knights can protect themselves and our king, and kill _any_ Argent that opposes us. Anyone dumb enough to get themselves killed, that’s their problem, not mine.”

Lydia felt too hot in her skin and found it impossible to look away from the man she hardly recognized. How he could be so cold and callous was beyond her. He was a knight! It was his duty to care for the kingdom, not insulting their prince and her friend while hoping for war. And what he’d implied would happen to Allison?

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked as she threw the blankets off herself and reached for her petal pink dress off a chair.

“To bathe first off,” Lydia retorted, “And then I might go see Allison. She and I haven’t spent much time together since she arrived. I would like to spend _some_ time with my best friend before we’re declared mortal enemies or His Highness Prince Stiles comes back to whisk her away from me.”

“You can’t just leave,” Jackson said as he watched Lydia gathered her clothes and began dressing. She could feel his eyes burning into her back but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Oh really?” she said, starting on the ties of her dress, “Pray tell, why is that?”

“Because it will be dark soon and you’re supposed to be here with me.”

“You really are on a winning streak with the knight’s code of chivalry, aren’t you?” Her tone lacked any semblance of amusement.

“Just come back to bed.”

“Hmm,” Lydia hummed pseudo-thoughtfully as she finished smoothing out her appearance, “as tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. I need my lady time.” She started toward the door when she heard Jackson start to mutter.

“You call yourself a lady after what we just did.”

Lydia paused at the threshold, completely hurt by Jackson’s words. She spun on her heel and leveled him with a glare, “Don’t you ever talk to me that way again.”

“Oh come on,” Jackson threw his head back, “You act like you’re so worried about your little hyperactive friend and the consequences of his actions, but you come here and we occupy each other like nothing’s changed. Look at yourself before you judge me.”

“How dare you,” Lydia took a dangerous step forward and her rage boiled over, “I’m not the one talking about how I’m on top of the world and the people who die aren’t my problem. Just because I’m not letting myself go mad from anxiety doesn’t mean I’m not terrified for when the bodies of my friends, my family, and fellow compatriots start to fall. So forgive me for seeking comfort from someone I care about in these dark times and acting like an actual human being.” She shot him one final look before storming toward the door.

“Think again before you speak to me," she paused at the threshold for one final word, "I am worth so much more than your disrespect.”

She rounded the corner before he could respond, glad that he couldn't see her falling tears.

 

Lydia knocked on the heavy oak door of Allison’s chambers, still fuming from her time with Jackson. She hated when he was in his selfish moods. True, she herself wasn’t the epitome of humble selflessness, but everyone has their faults. But to say the things he said… to _believe_ them. He really could be a horse’s ass.

The door clicked open and there stood a vision in silver starlight. Allison’s dark hair was tied back, tendrils looping over her skin. Her rose-tinted lips were especially striking against their pearlescent background and the way her orchid nightdress fell on her body bordered on divine. For an instant, Lydia forgot her foul mood. Only for an instant.

“Lydia,” Allison greeted, brows drawing together in concern, “is something wrong?”

“Oh, just Jackson. May I come in?”

“Of course,” Allison stepped back and allowed Lydia to pass, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Lydia crossed her arms as Allison closed the door, “Do men find pleasure in being complete miscreants or are they naturally doltish?”

“What happened?” Allison crossed over to her bed and gestured for Lydia to sit with her.

“He’s just… I love Jackson,” Lydia said as she sat next to her friend, “He’s intelligent, physically adept, usually good to me. It’s just that he makes me so _angry_ I can barely stand to be in the same room as him. The things he said about people, about Stiles, about- about me…”

“He doesn't exactly embody compassion,” Allison said tentatively, “but you are okay, right?”

“I’m fine, just bitter about his self-important ego demeaning everyone around him. As if he’s the only factor to consider if I go to his bed or our kingdoms go to war.”

An uncomfortable silence fell heavily between the two women, the words clinging to empty night air like tyrant clinging to power. Lydia glanced down at her hands before meeting Allison’s gaze, Allison doing the same. It was silent a little while longer until Allison laughed humorlessly.

“I would really hate it if we went to war,” she smiled, “I see you so little as it is, I’d imagine I’d see you a lot less from the battlefield.”

“Don’t say that,” Lydia said softly, resting her hand on Allison’s, “there may not even be a war.”

“There probably will be,” Allison responded in kind, “You don’t know my mother like I do. Even if something serious happened to Stiles, she’d still declare war. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t already done so.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Lydia shook her head, “It’s bringing me to a dark place and I’m already in a pretty foul mood. We can be worried and sad tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Allison said, holding Lydia’s hand in hers, “for now, let’s just be two friends enjoying each others’ company and forgetting the world for just one evening.”

“Could it be the night?” Lydia asked feeling a completely unfamiliar pang of nervousness at the implication, “It’s just that—I just don’t want to wander the corridors alone again. And I could really use my friend.”

“Oh,” Allison’s face turned a faint pink in the dim light, “yea, stay as long as you need. I sleep like a bear, so sharing a bed isn’t a problem for me.” Lydia laughed softly as Allison’s mouth froze in a gaping smile from what was likely embarrassment.

“Well,” Lydia said scooting closer, “even if you couldn’t you’d still have to bear with me because I’m not leaving.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m royalty,” Allison bumped Lydia teasingly, “Heir to the Argent throne and a highly esteemed warrior. I think I could get you to leave if I wanted.”

“But you don’t want me to,” Lydia’s lips turned into a pout and she rested her head on Allison’s bare shoulder, “because you don’t have the heart to send me off all alone.”

Allison hummed and brushed a lock of Lydia’s hair away from her face. It was nice, the gentleness, the actual compassion in the gesture. It made Lydia feel warm and safe for the first time in years. She wanted to melt into Allison and stay there forever.

“I’d never send you off alone,” Allison drew Lydia back to reality, “It would be a mark against my honor.”

“Then we agree,” Lydia smiled up at Allison, “I stay.”

“Yea… you stay.”

 

\--

 

This was bad. As Allison lay awake in the darkness of her room, she thought of how this absence of light mirrored her own life. She’d come here to marry a man she didn’t love, only to have him go missing and she was now more unsure of the future than she had already been. Not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her friends, her family, and her kingdom. Her mother wouldn’t rest until Allison was either married to Stiles or fighting on the battlefield.

And all she could think about was the young woman lying in bed next to her. The one with a dishonorable knight for an intended. The one who could smile so sweetly when the mood struck. The one who brushed hair from her cheek with a delicately soft hand.

Allison felt a pang of heartache.

She shook the feeling off and rolled on her side to better see the sleeping form of her dearest friend. She was an angel wrapped in linen but for her lips curling slightly down and brow gently creased. All Allison wanted to do was smooth away those lines and kiss away that frown. Maybe take her hand and escape to some far away land where no one, not even her mother, could touch them. They could be happy together.

But the fantasy could only last for so long before reality crashed around her with burning clarity and everything wrong with the world came back. Her mother’s anger over the unfulfilled contract, Lydia’s interest in Allison but love for her intended, the threat of war, the possibility that Stiles could be injured or dead. Oh god, her friend could be dead or dying and all she could think of Lydia and how even if she felt the same way, they could never be together.

She screwed her eyes shut and swallowed back the lump in her throat. Everything was awful.


	12. A Strange Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles' POV

Derek knelt next to the glass phial, carefully picking it up with his claws. Turning it in the orange torchlight of the prisoner’s cell revealed nothing apart from the last few droplets of violet poison at the bottom. The body of the assassin was discovered at midnight rounds and hadn’t been dead for more than half an hour at most. Scott stood in the threshold of the cell accompanied by Isaac, Erica and Boyd, their most trusted pack members. Ethan, who’d found the corpse, was currently with his brother, Aiden, for protection and to contain this incident. Derek sighed.

“How did this happen?”

“I swear, I don’t know,” Scott said, his tone more confused than defensive, “He was searched thoroughly after he was chained. Isaac did it personally, there’s no way he could have missed it. Someone has to be staging this.”

“Are you sure?”

Isaac rolled his eyes and stared at the ground, clearly showing signs of restraint. Scott took a protective half-step forward with squared shoulders and set jaw.

“I trust Isaac and the rest of my guard. They’re more careful than to miss this.”

 Derek hummed thoughtfully and took a closer look at the glass. It was possible that someone had snuck in and murdered the assassin to keep him silent. If the rogue had managed to get around the guard surely someone else could manage. They’d have to change round patterns and tighten up security, but that was if it wasn’t an inside job.

“Search the mountain,” he stood and turned to face Scott, “if anyone is somewhere they aren’t supposed to be take them to the throne room for questioning. I want food and drink production monitored and guards stationed at all exits.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott nodded and gestured for the other two to organize the wolves, “anything else?”

“Just whatever else you deem fit. Consider it an exercise in trust and leadership.”

Scott visibly restrained a sigh and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Derek watched Scott retreat after Erica and Boyd. He sighed as he glanced down, only then noticing tiny purple droplets outside the cell door.

 

\--

 

Life in a jail cell is a lot less fun than it sounds, which really says a lot about how painfully and mind-numbingly dull it is. The only company was the same four rock walls for hours on end with the same dim torchlight spilling in through the same wood door from the same dark halls.

What was worse was the sad excuse for a bed, which after a second time sleeping on was causing his back no end of trouble. Scratch that, what was worse was how freaking _cold_ it was, and the ‘new’ clothes clearly borrowed from someone larger than he was, weren’t helping. Maybe if he had something that actually covered his legs instead of only tunics that barely reached his knees (seriously, did anyone but Derek wear trousers or even stockings?), he wouldn’t have as much to complain about. Which was still a lot of things. All facts, which Stiles made perfectly clear when Isaac came by to bring him to dinner.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Isaac groaned. He was in the middle of unchaining Stiles’, so Stiles retaliated by kicking a little.

“You know, considering I’m being held against my will, I think I’ve earned the right to complain as much and as annoyingly as I can. I don’t even have a book to pass the time and Scott hasn’t been by all day. That’s just inconsiderate, there.”

“Would you hold still?” Isaac finally managed to get the key in the lock and turn it, “Scott’s been a little busy today, what with the assassin turning up dead and all.”

“Wait what?” Stiles’ mouth gaped and he whipped his head as Isaac stood, “The wolfsassin’s dead?”

“Wolfsassin?”

“Uh, wolf assassin,” Stiles explained feeling slightly embarrassed, “its what I’ve been calling him in my head.”

“Cute,” Isaac deadpanned, “But yea, he’s dead. Poisoned himself.”

“Shouldn’t you have searched him for something before locking him up?”

Isaac narrowed his eyes and growled softly. Stiles cleared his throat and shrugged, “Just seems like a bit of an oversight to me is all.”

“Let’s just get you to dinner.”

 “Uh, yea,” Stiles nodded and allowed himself to be led out of the cell, “wouldn’t want to keep Big Bad Beast King waiting.”

“Go easy on him," Isaac warned, “Wouldn’t want him to tear that pretty face off, now would we?”

“Wow," Stiles felt his eyes widen, "You know the words you just said are terrifying but your tone makes it sound almost adorable. Seriously, you have a talent there, my friend. Not many wolf-monsters can pull off the adorable puppy look.”

“Scott does.”

“Yea, well of course _Scott_ does,” Stiles sighed in exasperation of Isaac’s disinterested tone, “I mean come on, the boy cries when flowers get trampled. You on the other hand, have no excuse for being less than threatening.”

Isaac smirked, “He really used to cry over _flowers_?”

“ _Trampled_ flowers. You know, with that super-hearing you’d think you’d be a better listener.”

“You know, with that cell of yours, you’d think you’d be a better behaved prisoner.”

“What can I say, I’m scrappy.”

Isaac rolled his eyes and the two descended into silence. It was a few minutes before either of them said a word.

“It’s the scarf.”

“See, I knew it had to be something!”

 

Stiles hesitated outside the dining room, somehow feeling more nervous now than he did when he thought he as going to be murdered for his succulent man-flesh. Well, the night was still early. Assuming it was night. Once again, he marvelled how difficult it was to tell time in a cave where the sun couldn’t reach.

He took a deep, calming breath and rounded the corner into the dining hall where Derek sat looking vastly different than he did the day before. He still looked exhausted and terrifying, that hadn't changed in the slightest, but he lacked that expectant air and domineering presence about him that had been intimidating when he stared Stiles down. It was like he was trapped in his mind and lost in the mists of thought.

Stiles straightened his posture and marched toward the table. Derek didn’t even seem to notice Stiles’ entrance until he impetuously yanked the chair back and dropped into the seat. The doe-eyed look of panic on the usually murderous man’s face was simply beautiful.

“You know,” Stiles grinned mischievously, “I was actually just talking to Isaac out there about your heightened sense of hearing compensating for your lowered sense of listening.”

Derek glared as he straightened up in his seat, “Forgive me for having preoccupations with something other than my prisoner.”

“And here I thought you weren’t going to be a good host.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I don’t expect you to understand the pressures of ruling a kingdom.”

Stiles felt his heart jump in his chest and it took all of his willpower not to utter the words, _that’s what you think_. For once, it seemed his mouth was miraculously cooperating with his mind, unlike his traitorous heart. Derek’s brow furrowed at the skipped beat he likely heard, and Stiles quickly cleared his throat.

“So uh, why did you invite me back?”

“What?” Derek asked, apparently caught off guard.

“Dinner?” Stiles clarified and gestured vaguely, hoping the obvious change of topic wasn’t too… obvious. “Why did you invite me back? Like, you didn’t invite me back to kill me, did you?” Derek leaned back in his seat as a contemplative shadow crossed his face and panic shot through Stiles, “Oh gods, _you didn’t invite me back to kill me, did you_?”

“No,” Derek shook his head, “no, not for that.”

“Oh… good.”

“You still have a fortnight, remember?” Derek met Stiles’ gaze and raised a brow, to which Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You know, I don’t appreciate your sense of humor.”

"Well, now we have something in common.”

Stiles started to make a retort, but found himself agreeing, “I suppose it had to happen at some point. We can only get by on our good looks for so long.” Dammit, did he really say that out loud? Maybe Derek would just let the comment slide.

“Good looks?” Derek leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, amusement emanating from that beautiful yet absolutely terrifying face. _Shit._

“Hey,” Stiles leaned back in his seat awkwardly, about to cross his ankle over his knee when he remembered he wasn’t wearing anything underneath the tunic, “I may be gross from sitting in a freezing cave for two days, uh, probably two days. Has it been two days? It feels like longer. Anyway, I may be gross and wearing what’s probably one of Boyd’s freakishly oversized tunics, but I’ll have you know I’m a total fox.”

Derek sucked his teeth and leaned back again. Stiles raised his brows.

“What?”

“Do you really get that cold?”

“Uh…” Stiles frowned, brows knitting together, “Yea, I—“

The wait staff interrupted him as they brought in food that was very similar to what they’d served the previous day. Stiles vaguely wondered if they just waited around until there was an awkward moment to bring in food. If it happened a third time there as definitely a pattern.

When the wait staff left, Derek nodded at Stiles before taking some leafy greens onto his plate, “We can see about moving you somewhere warmer. I didn’t realize you’d be so cold.”

Stiles' mind completely blanked, apparently losing its processing abilities, "Uh... what?"

"I said we'll move you to another room," Derek clarified with humor in his eyes, "Now who has the lowered sense of listening?"

Stiles hesitated, then, “Why are you doing this?”

"Moving you to warmer quarters?" Derek cocked an eyebrow. 

"No," Stiles began, "I mean, well yes, but I mean this, all of this. Moving me because I said I was cold, giving me clean clothes, dinner. Why invite me back to dinner with you?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It just does!" Stiles gestured wildly out of exasperation and growing frustration, "I may not know wolf-monster customs, but I know for a fact that prisoners don’t dine with royalty. Is it for Scott? Because I don’t think having dinner with me every night and- and playing nice are going to do anything for you once I’m dead!”

Derek set his fork down gently and crossed his fingers under his chin, “You’re yelling at the Beast King.”

“You’re speaking in the third person.”

“I’m just saying it would be wise for you to speak with some manner of civility if you want us to maintain our truce.”

“Fine,” Stiles reigned in his frustration and licked his lips, “Fine,” He started piling his plate with food. He frowned in disgust when he accidentally skewered a small silvery fish with his knife and flicked it off the utensil before directing his attention back to Derek, “But I am curious. For someone so straightforward, you're surprisingly cryptic.”

There was a lengthy pause as Derek seemed to seriously consider Stiles’ words. When it seemed Derek wasn’t going to answer at all, he shrugged, “I find you interesting.”

The words were so unexpected, it was as if the gross little fish had spoken them instead of Derek for all the effect they had on Stiles. He was rendered almost entirely speechless.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Derek assured, “I’ve never met someone with a complete lack of control over their thoughts and body that it borders on pathological.”

“Wha—“ Stiles squawked, “I am in complete control of my thoughts and body!”

“What are you doing with your arms right now?”

Stiles looked down to see his arms out at his sides, finally having stilled after gesturing wildly. His father really did have a point about the flailing thing.

The thought of his father felt like a knife twisting in his heart. He’d done so well not to think about what was happening, lest he fall to panic like he was prone to do. He let his arms fall and took a deep breath and started to eat.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles briefly glanced up at Derek’s curious frown and swallowed the piece of bird in his mouth, “Nothing, just, uh, just homesick I suppose.”

A pause.

"I…” Derek began. For the first time since Stiles met the man, he sounded awkward, “I don’t know what to say.”

Stiles shrugged, “Nothing really to say.”

“Yea, I suppose you’re right.” They continued the dinner in silence, and it wasn’t until Stiles was on his second plate that Derek spoke again.

“I think I’ll move you into the room next to mine.”

Stiles choked on his greens and it took several large gulps of water to recover.

“Uh, what?”

“The room next to mine,” Derek said flatly like _Stiles_ was the one being ridiculous, “it’s warmer, drier, and larger. There’s a heavy presence of guards so you don’t have to be chained to the wall. It’ll be… homier.”

“Ah, um, well,” Stiles was confused, “I mean, that sounds pretty good, but how do you know I won’t like, y’know. Kill you in your sleep and make my escape to freedom?”

“Call it a leap of faith,” Derek smiled, “or call it confidence in my knowledge that either myself or my subjects would tear your limbs off before you even set an unescorted foot out of the room. The need for securing my chambers has increased twofold, after all.”

“Okay, how do _I_ know _you_ won’t kill _me_ in my sleep?”

Derek took a breath to answer but Stiles waved a hand, saying, “Yea, yea, ‘leap of faith,’ gotcha. Still, y’know, it’s a little weird. Come on, you have to agree, it’s weird.”

“If you’d rather stay in the freezing cell—“

"No, no, I just, um,” wow, Stiles _really_ did not know what to say to this. Should he refuse? He really didn’t want to go back to that icy cell of his. Should he say nothing? That didn’t seem right. One thing was certain, he definitely shouldn’t say—

“Thanks, I guess.” Dammit.

Derek nodded, smug smile taunting Stiles for his slip up in civility, “Gratitude accepted.”

“Ugh, prisoner gratitude.”

“You’re the one that thanked me, remember?”

“Right, right.”


	13. Familial Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Derek's POV

Victoria cleared her throat as Allison bit into a very red, succulent strawberry. The sudden noise after a long period of silence shocked her out of her inner turmoil over Stiles and Lydia, and everything surrounding them. She, her father and her mother were alone in the massive, stone dining hall. The light of the setting sun streamed through the tall, thin windows, orange light falling across the table and over Victoria’s spot at the head of the table, which only made her gaze more piercing. Allison looked up at her mother and waited for her to speak.

“Allison, honey,” Victoria said seriously, “I’m sure by now you’re aware of what’s happened?”

“Yea,” Allison nodded, “yea, I know.”

“Good,” Victoria said as she daintily tore off a small piece of bread, “then you’ve started preparing strategies for when we declare war.”

“What?” Allison squeaked, “It hasn’t even been a week since Stiles went missing!”

“War waits for no one,” Victoria said simply, “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy having something to occupy your time apart from… socializing.”

"Mother!”

“I understand you’re close to the girl, but you know our customs. We can't violate our end of the contract and unlike those of lower nobility, you need to produce a blood related heir.”

Allison felt her cheeks heat from embarrassment and anger. How her mother had figured it out she didn’t know, but somehow she did. She let her gaze fall to her plate, unable to meet her mother’s gaze much longer.

“Victoria,” Chris warned, briefly sending Allison a sympathetic gaze.

"Chris,” Victoria returned sternly before turning to Allison with a sickly sweet smile “Sweetheart, I’m sure this is difficult for you, but you need to accept the way our world works. Now I’ve given John until the wedding day to produce his son, but I highly doubt he’ll be able. In which case we need to prepare for the worst.”

“Why?” Allison snapped, “We don’t even know if Stiles ran away or not. He could have been abducted on his ride for all we know. He could be dead and we'd just be sitting here planning battle strategies!”

“Then why hasn’t anyone found signs of an ambush? Where’s his horse? Surely someone would have found it if it hadn’t found it’s way back.”

“Maybe whoever took Stiles took his horse as well," Allison said desperately, "We should be helping to find him, not declaring war on a grieving father.”

“We cannot afford the luxury to assume that Stiles has done anything but deliberately break the contract,” Victoria clipped, “I thought we’d instilled you with certain ideas about looking at a situation with an objective eye. If you let your feelings for Stiles, John, or even this girl cloud your judgment then you’re not the leader I thought you were. If you don’t want to be a disappointment to me or your subjects, you will straighten up and learn to take charge the right way.”

The lump in Allison’s throat made it very hard to breathe. The only thing she seemed able to do was to nod her head and keep the tears from overflowing. Victoria stood with regal grace and smiled softly.

“I have other matters to attend to. Chris, darling, should I expect you soon?”

“Once I’ve finished,” he gestured to his mostly empty plate. Victoria nodded and left with a final stern glance to her daughter. When she was gone from sight, Chris sigh wearily.

“Allison, sweetheart, I know this has got to be difficult for you—“

“That’s an understatement,” Allison tried to keep her voice even despite the tears threatening to fall and consume her, “She acts like she’s doing what’s best for me but all she’s doing is push the people I care about away. What good is being a leader when you don't have anyone by your side?”

Chris sighed, his eyes full of a sad understanding, “She really does mean well. She loves you dearly, and I think that blinds her in some ways, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she really is trying to make a better future for you.”

“By forcing me to fight against my friends and ignore the possibility that maybe Stiles has been made a pawn in a plot to tear our two kingdoms apart? By telling me I will never have a choice in who I love? By telling me”

“Allison,” her father’s voice was soft but stern in a way only a man of royalty could be, “You know our code. We have obligations as royalty to which we must adhere. Your marriage was part of that for a reason, and sadly, so is this war. If Stiles hasn’t been returned one way or another, we may have no choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Allison bit, “We’re the ones with war in our hearts, not them.”

Chris nodded sorrowfully and looked out the door through which Victoria had disappeared.

Neither said a word the rest of the night.

 

\--

 

“What’s this I hear about you moving the prisoner into your chambers, nephew?”

Derek glared at his uncle as he disrobed at the forest’s edge. It wasn’t often he indulged himself in a run, even less so when there was tension in the mountain, but he needed this. He handed his tunic to Isaac, where he stood with Boyd waiting to join their king. Isaac took the tunic and carefully hung it on a nearby tree.

“The chambers next to mine,” he corrected as he started with his trousers, “It makes the most sense. Someone tries to kill me as soon as he arrives is awfully suspicious. The best I can do is to keep an eye on him.”

“You can do that just as well with him in his previous accommodations,” Peter crooned, “There’s no need to move him.”

“Why do you care?”

“As you said, someone did try to kill you, and it is odd that should happen the same day our dear human arrived in our lands. It might just be an old man's cautious nature, but I think you're taking an awfully big risk in keeping someone connected to the assassination close.”

“I don’t think he’s _connected_ ,” Derek said, surprising himself with his defensiveness and passed his trousers to Isaac, “at least, not directly.”

“Not directly?” Peter raised a brow.

“He saved my life," Derek explained as nonchalant as he could, "if you remember. Which, if he wasn't part of the assassination plot, puts him at risk. He got in the way of an assassination attempt and they will be people who aren’t too happy about that. It’s best to keep him close. If not for observation of his behaviour, then for protection.”

“Are you saying you _care_ about this little human?” Peter’s smiled dripped with patronization, “Careful, nephew, you remember what happened to the last—“

“You be careful, uncle,” Derek turned on Peter, eyes flashing red, “Need I remind you of the reason I am the Alpha?”

“Of course not,” Peter said coolly and none too impressed, “It just seems pointless to move someone you’ll have to kill in less than two week’s time. Especially since the assassin killed himself and you’ve increased the guards in the perimeter so no one can get in or out without getting sniffed out.”

Derek said nothing, wondering if he should tell his uncle about his suspicions that it hadn’t been a suicide, but an execution. That the killer was likely still within the mountain and already plotting a new scheme.

He silently closed his eyes. He allowed his body to reshape itself; bones reformed, muscle mass lengthened or compressed, his skin rippled as sleek dark fur grew. The heat generated was almost unbearable, painful, but it would all be over in a matter of moments.

He dropped to the ground and rode out the almost euphoric wave that rushed over him after his transformation. He opened red eyes, bright against their dark backdrop. A low growl escaped from behind sharpened fangs and lethal claws dug into the hard earth beneath massive paws. Isaac and Boyd flanked him on either side, their less dramatic transformations accented with yellow eyes and responding growls of their own. Soon the three of them had left Peter in the dust, their footfalls thudding powerfully to match the beating of their hearts.

Derek was still thinking about Stiles.


	14. Breakfast!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay in updating. I just haven't had the time because sometimes life likes to hit you with everything at once. It's alright though, that just means the protagonist of my life story is in for some character development. What good is a story if the main character gets everything handed to them? That's a boring story with boring characters and like hell I'm gonna be that. I'm gonna be as dynamic as fuck and come out stronger.
> 
> Anyhoo, sorry this chapter is more filler than plot advancing, but the next few chapters will be dedicated to developing relationships, most likely in a painfully cliched and sappy way. Enjoy!

The move to his new accommodations was an easy one as it wasn’t like he’d really had anything in the cell to bring with him. Despite the ease, it was definitely a dramatic change. For starters, there was no door at the entryway. Even if he couldn’t leave, the open arch was a lot less stifling than the fence-door had been. Might as well embrace the delusion that he was here by choice.

The room's interior was also a step up from where he'd been. The lack of a chain and shackle was a welcome sight. Same with the bed with its reasonably comfortable mattress, warm blankets, and wrought iron bed frame. The décor was still bleak and minimal, but at least this one was brighter given the candelabras rooted in the four corners of the room, lit candles included. He’d slept well that night in the far more spacious room than he had in that wretched cell. At least, his sleep was better than it had been considering how difficult it was to fall asleep without the comforts of home.

He was still asleep when he felt something tickle his nose. Groaning, he rolled his face into his pillow and swatted at whatever it was that disturbed his sleep. It was a feminine giggle that had him scrambling into an upright position, flailing completely.

“Good morrow, dear Stiles,” Erica smiled innocently down at him once he’d finally righted himself. Her golden locks, the culprit behind the tickling, hung innocuous and lovely around her face.

“Uh…” Stiles was so not used to beautiful women in his chambers, let alone a woman who could quite literally eat him alive, “good morrow? I guess? Um, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you’d like to have a proper meal outside your dinners with our Alpha, and maybe get out of the room for a while,” she started pulling down the blankets and Stiles immediately fought to keep himself covered.

“I’m not wearing anything under this,” he blurted and immediately regretted it as his cheeks felt like they'd been set aflame. Erica raised an eyebrow with a snort. She let the blankets go and walked over to retrieve the tunic and accompanying items from where they lay folded at the foot of the bed.

“Here,” she tossed the ball of fabric to Stiles, who was too busy holding the blankets up over his chest to attempt to catch them, “Get dressed and I’ll take you exploring.”

She waited at the end of the bed, smile still plastered on her face and showing no signs of allowing Stiles the luxury of privacy. Of course she wouldn’t, she probably thrived on the vulnerability of others, not hard to believe given how they met. He thought he’d try anyway.

“Uh, could you maybe turn around?”

Erica’s brows drew together in confusion before the smile of sudden understanding crossed her face, “Right, I’d forgotten about the ‘whole modest sensibilities’ thing humans have.”

She turned her back to him, humor written in her posture as though she were playing along with a child’s flight of fancy. Stiles did his best to ignore it as he pulled the tunic over his head while revealing as little of his body as possible. He vaguely wondered how little a threat she saw him as that she was completely at ease turning her back on him.

“Are you sure I should be out exploring?” he questioned as he continued dressing, “Isn’t it kind of a rule not to let the prisoner wander about the halls of their captors?”

“Ah, but you’re not just any prisoner. You’re our guest.”

Stiles snorted, “If you treat all your guests this way, I can see why no one ever ventures out here.”

“Are you almost done? How long does it take to dress yourself?”

“Just about done,” Stiles pulled on his boots and stood to tie his belt as Erica turned around, “But I am serious. Is anyone gonna try to, you know, kill me for being out of my room?”

“Oh please,” Erica strutted over and hooked her arm through his, “as long as you’re with me, no one will touch you.”

“What are you, Captain of the Guard?”

“Such a human term,” she lead him out into the corridor where two guards seemed hesitant to let them leave but made no move to stop them, “and no, that would be Scott… in a way. No, I’m just a humble beta.”

The smugness on her face made Stiles suspect she wasn’t telling the whole truth. He cleared his throat, “And betas can often take prisoners on tours around the, uh, mountain?”

Erica smiled impishly, “Only if they’re part of the Beast King’s Innermost Circle, and only if the prisoner is lovely enough.”

“Oh,” Stiles felt his face grow warm as words failed him, “um, that was… unexpected. Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Erica steered him around a corner and further into the mountain, “you still have breakfast to look forward to.”

Stiles fought back a shiver, both from the cold and ambiguity of her wording.

“That’s not code for ‘you’re going to be fed to hungry wolves for breakfast’, right?”

“Stiles,” Erica threw her head back, “you have got to stop assuming everyone here is going to eat you. We’re quite capable of feeding ourselves without resorting to cannibalism.”

Stiles contemplated her use of the word ‘cannibalism’ and if it applied to werewolf-human interaction in this context as she continued to manhandle him down corridors.

It wasn’t long until they’d reached the kitchen, which was armed by two more guards who again, seemed hesitant to let them pass but made no move to stop them. Erica’s influence must have been greater than Stiles suspected if she’s allowed to take prisoners from their cells and into a guarded kitchen so soon after an assassination attempt.

The kitchen was really more of a large empty space with a stone counter in the middle of the room, a few walk in storage areas lining the right wall, a water pump in the far right corner, and a spit and open fireplace against the far wall next to a fair sized box of wood and settled underneath a hole in the ceiling just large enough for a person to fit through. To his left, he could see the dining area.

“Only one fireplace for the entire mountain's food?” Stiles found himself asking.

Erica’s breath tickled at his ear as she leaned in suggestively, “Most of us prefer our meat bloody.”

The look on Stiles face must have been something akin to mortification because Erica burst into a sudden fit of high pitched laughter.

“Wow, you really are too easy!” she dragged him further into the kitchen, “I knew it would be fun having you around.”

“I’m so glad I’m entertaining you,” Stiles said absently as he noted the total lack of anyone else in the room with them, “but if you’re going to kill me or something, just get it over with. This little game is really starting to piss me off.”

“I told you we’re not cannibals,” Erica dropped his hand and walked into one of the storage rooms, “you don’t have to worry about us eating you.”

“Just killing me, that all?”

“Exactly!” Erica came back with a pot in one hand and three eggs in the other, “And you barely have to worry about that. The Beast King will turn you and you’ll be one of us. I have every confidence in you.”

“Oh, so I just _barely_ have to worry about being murdered. That makes me feel so much better!”

Erica left the pot and eggs on the counter and with a few deft sparks from flint and steel over the pre-arranged tinder she had the beginnings of a fire, “Sarcasm is very unbecoming in a guest.”

Stiles felt a pang as he was suddenly reminded of Lydia. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Three days? Four? It felt so long since he’d joined her for a stroll through the castle. Was she okay? Was anyone okay? He hoped they’d be out looking for him, but what if they were too busy drawing battle plans to send out a proper search party? At the very least, he hoped Gotham had returned by now. At least the traitor would alert them that something had happened.

“Hey,” Erica’s voice broke through the fog of his mind, “are you alright? Your heart’s beating too fast.”

“Uh…” he fought his away from the panic that threatened to engulf him, focusing instead on the fire that was a lot bigger than it had been when he’d last been paying attention. It was almost soothing, watching the flames dance in time with the swirling smoke.

“Yea," he nodded, "I just… you just reminded me of someone.”

Erica nodded, looking for the first time since he’d met her, apologetic. It lasted a brief moment before she perked up and her gaze shifted to the entranceway. By the time Stiles turned around, Boyd walked into view.

“There you are,” he shook his head with his attention directed solely at Erica, “I thought you said you weren’t going to take him out.”

“I changed my mind,” Erica smiled sweetly and gestured to one of the storage areas, “Could you get me some deer and a knife?”

Boyd rolled his eyes as an amused smile graced soft lips, and did as she commanded. When he handed the slab of meat, which had been tightly wrapped in a dry cloth, and utensil to her, she leaned up to do that weird forehead touching thing he’d seen Scott and Isaac do earlier, followed by a quick, playful kiss on his neck. It was so tender an interaction. So… human.

“The Beast King won’t like that you have him wandering around,” Boyd took the pot from the counter over to the pump while Erica skewered the meat on the spit.

“Oh relax,” Erica rolled her eyes, “It’s not like I’m helping him escape. Besides, he’s forgiven me for a lot worse. I’m sure I can win back his favour easily.”

“Talk like that, you might make me jealous,” Boyd’s tone was neutral but the soft expression on his face was teasing.

“I love how much you trust me,” Erica sent him a coy smile, “But we can save the sweet talk for later. We have a guest after all.”

Boyd nodded and glanced passively to where Stiles had stood watching the scene before him. The two wolves were looking at him now. He should say something. Anything.

“So, uh, Boyd. Thanks for the clothes. I mean, you’re the only one I’ve seen with enough muscle to fill it out so it’s sort of way too loose on me but- I mean, thank you.” _Smooth._

Boyd nodded in acknowledgement and brought the now full pot over to hang over the fire, but said nothing. Stiles shuffled awkwardly and Erica went back to turning the meat. After a few moments of silence Stiles spoke up.

“So you two really like calling Derek the Beast King, huh?” At their slightly alarmed expressions, he hurried an explanation, “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you two use his name.”

“He…” Erica began uncertainly, “He hasn’t really gone by Derek since his mother died and he took up his title.”

“But,” Stiles said a little more than confused, “Scott—“

“Scott has more leeway because he’s Second to the Alpha,” Boyd explained simply and without a trace of malice in his tone. He picked up the eggs from the counter and carefully dropped them in the now boiling pot, “It’s part of why you’re alive right now.”

“Noted,” Stiles said, still confused, “Why exactly did he stop going by Derek? Even if he has a new title, it doesn’t make sense that he would lose his name.”

“Losing a pack member is like losing a limb,” Erica explained with a note of uncertainty, as though she was unsure if she'd be allowed to continue speaking, “When the others burned, it wasn’t just his family or his friends he lost. He lost an enormous part of himself in that fire and I don’t think he wants to forget it.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. He felt the deaths of his own people dearly, but it never occurred to him that this side had lost so much too. That Derek had lost so much.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Erica smiled with mirth, “Who are you going to tell? You’ll likely be dead in a week and some days anyway.”

“You never miss an opportunity to remind me of my own mortality do you?” Stiles crossed his arms with a feeling of… well it wasn’t quite relief at the change of subject but it was close. It was a feeling not dissimilar to running into someone you dislike at an uncomfortable gathering where you know no one. Not really something you would embrace, but at least a familiar unfriendly face is easier to deal with than a foreign unfriendly one.

“You’re the one with squishy human skin,” Erica raised a hand defensively, “Don’t blame us for your easy killability.”

“I’ll try to be more courteous,” Stiles drawled sardonically.

When Erica’s response was to laugh, he somehow found himself laughing with her. The whole situation was completely ridiculous. There he was, in the middle of a mountain and surrounded by things that could kill him in any number of ways, and two of the creatures made loving eyes at each other and breakfast for him.

“I’m going completely mad,” Stiles shook his head.

“Yea,” Erica shrugged, “But we like you anyway.”


	15. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' POV

Stiles was finishing off his eggs when Scott careened into the kitchen area, red faced and breathless. He looked between Boyd, Erica, and Stiles with an odd mix of confusion and relief that would almost be endearing. Once he'd calmed down, he locked still wide eyes with Stiles and huffed.

“You’re okay.”

Stiles nodded slowly, “Uh, yea. Why, did you think I wasn’t?”

“I went by your room and you weren’t there,” Scott shuffled his feet, “I panicked.”

Oh gods, he really was a puppy.

“Erica decided to take me adventuring through the mountain and dragged me down here so she could show off her culinary skills.”

Scott turned on Erica. She smiled impishly from her place at the opposite end of the counter as he stalked toward her with an air of authority. He stopped right in front of her with crossed arms, “And who said you could move Stiles?”

“Relax,” Erica leaned back against the counter and mirrored Scott's crossed arms, “I wasn’t letting him go. I just thought that since he’s lasted this long he might as well get a chance to see the place that might be his home. Besides look at him! It’s obvious he was gonna flex his claws if he stayed trapped in that room with nothing to do.” Stiles looked down at his blunt human fingernails before he could really process what she said and Erica giggled.

 “It’s just a figure of speech,” she said much to Stiles’ embarrassment, “No one actually expects you to whip out a set of claws... yet."

Stiles made a face at her while Scott let a low growl escape through his tense jaw. Erica’s face fell and she minutely straightened up. Apparently she wasn’t as unflappable as she made herself out to be and was actually weary of her not-quite-future alpha.

“Look if you want us to take him back, all you need to do is ask,” she was smiling again, “Although, it’s a shame to send him back now that he’s already busted out for the day. Besides, it's not like we're going to risk his escape by taking him to the upper levels.”

Scott sighed and turned to Stiles, “What do you wanna do?”

“Me?” Stiles considered his options, “Personally I’d rather get the heck out of here and be off on my merry way. But barring that, a trip around the mountain sounds about ten times more stimulating that staring at the same wall for hours.”

Scott nodded, then his expression brightened, “I can show you the common area! You’ll love the library- you still love books, right? Oh, and the pool! And—”

“Whoa, easy there, bud,” Stiles held his hands up, “We don’t have to race through it all, we can take our time.”

“Right, sorry,” Scott seemed abashed, “Where do you wanna visit first?”

Stiles grinned, “Let’s go to the library.”

 

The four traversed the dark corridors of the mountain and despite the fact that he shouldn't be feeling anything else but misery, Stiles felt excitement bubbling in his chest. Something about walking around the dark, dank halls of his prison was strangely liberating compared to dreaming about freedom from his little prison bed. His life was sad and disappointing.

“So what does a werewolf library look like?" he asked to distract himself from having to self-reflect, "Is it all bloody paper and gnawed spines? Like, book and people variety?”

“Yes, Stiles, that’s it exactly,” Erica nudged his arm lightheartedly, “Really, have _some_ faith in us!”

“I hope it’s brighter in there than in here,” Stiles looked around at the weak torchlight reflecting off the cave walls, “I’d have to read in this. Seriously, how do you all see down here?”

“Werewolf vision,” Boyd stated from behind, “It’s really very convenient.”

They rounded a corner and Stiles could see a well lit room up ahead and as they drew closer, he saw the beginning of shelves filled with books and scrolls. For the first time since he had been imprisoned, Stiles felt he might be able to find a sense of belonging. Like he could lose himself fully in the memory of home.

They’d just reached the door when the wolves stopped and Scott held an arm out to keep Stiles from going forward.

“What? I thought we were going to the library?”

“Derek’s in there,” Scott whispered, “Erica, does he know Stiles is out?” He looked around to the woman in question with a nervous glint in his eyes.

“Not exactly,” Erica crossed her arms, though she seemed just as anxious as Scott was, “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.”

“Yea, you know what else is easy?" Scott whispered furiously, "Painting the halls Stiles Red, which is something I don't want to risk happening."

Stiles barely caught the end of Scott’s sentence because he found himself ducking under his friend’s arm to get a look into the room because apparently his common sense had gone on holiday and left curiosity in charge. What would a wolf even do in a library anyway? Practice ripping things apart with his teeth?

He was almost surprised to see Derek sat hunched over a stone table spread over with various scrolls and books. Stiles could hear Scott whispering frantically at him but something in him, either his need to understand the enigma that was Derek the Beast King or lack of his own self-preservation, pulled him forward into the room.

He had made it ten steps into the room when Derek tensed and looked up at him accusatorily, “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Stiles stopped and the fear he should have been feeling before engulfed him completely. Now that he’d been caught in that penetrative gaze, he was frightened and unsure of how to proceed. “I wanted to see the library and read,” he finished lamely.

Derek looked around him to the door. When he spotted Stiles’ accompanying party, he sighed only the way someone who’d had to deal with the exploits of someone particularly exhausting could. Stiles should know, he'd heard that sigh most of his life.

“Erica…” he seemed exasperated but soon the lines in his face smoothed out as he forced himself to calm. After a moment he nodded Stiles toward the door, "You should leave, go back to your room. I've got important things I have to get done."

Stiles stood there dumbly as Derek turned back to his work and Scott beckoned him to come back. He knew he should go back to Scott and the rest, but he really,  _really_ didn't want to go back to his room. It was boring. It made him claustrophobic. It was an unending nightmare of four rock barricades with an oppressive ceiling and unforgiving floor. Yes, it was a different room, but it was the same story. And there was no way he would be going back so soon. Not before he could pretend for a few brief hours that he was anywhere else but here!

Derek gave him an oddly adorable and mildly affronted look and it was at that moment Stiles realized he'd said all of that out loud. Oh dear gods, he'd said that out loud. He opened his mouth to say... he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Definitely not sorry, but he had to say something. Before he could, Derek turned around to Scott and the others, “Leave him here, I’ll watch over him.”

Stiles looked back at his company in time to catch Erica’s smirk, Boyd’s mildly surprised brow raise, and Scott’s abject horror. He didn’t want to think about what those expressions meant.

“We can take him somewhere else,” Scott began, “If he’s bothering you—“

“No,” Derek shook his head, “He came here to read, so I’ll let him read. You all have duties to attend to and it makes more sense to get them all done rather today than put them off.”

“How—“

“If Erica was the one that let him out, I know there wasn’t much preplanning,” Derek leveled Erica with a stern gaze before addressing the rest of them, “Ensure your work is done for tomorrow and do what you wish. I can take care of both him and my work today.”

Scott nodded reluctantly and waved to the other two to leave. As they were leaving, Erica paused in the doorway to mouth the words ‘he likes you’ and shoot Stiles a wink. Stiles, to his credit, didn’t put much thought into the gestures. From what he knew, Erica was pretty eccentric. He turned back to Derek with an increased awareness of the fact that they were completely alone in the room. The nearest guards were at least twenty feet down the corridor, likely both ways.

“Uh…” Stiles swallowed, “Why—“

“You like to read, don’t you?”

“Uh…” Stiles was so not sure what Derek was up to, “I- yea, I read. Like to read. Books take you places your legs can’t take you. Or a horse. Where a horse can’t take you.” Oh dear gods, Stiles, shut up.

“Go pick something out,” Derek nodded to one of the shelves, “The ones there are usually a good read.”

“Oh… okay…” Stiles walked over to the shelves in question and began his search, “I’m surprised you even have a library. I would have thought any books you would have had, if you had any, would have burned up in the fire.” He picked a rosy leather-bound book off the shelf to inspect it.

“They did,” Derek said in a warning tone, “I wrote down all the stories I could remember with a few members of the original pack and added a few new ones.”

“Whoa, you wrote all these from memory?” Stiles spun around, mouth agape, “There must be over a thousand books here. How do you know so many stories? What are they about? It’s not like, all hunting and blood and violence, is it?”

Derek shook his head, “I read most of the books we had, and the others filled in the blanks where my memory failed me. The old stories inspired me to write a few of my own. The one you’ve got in your hands is one of them.”

Stiles looked down and turned the book over in his hands, “You wrote this?”

“I have work to do,” Derek gestured to the table, “If you want to read, read.”

“Right, yea,” Stiles nodded, “I guess I’ll just get reading. Over there. Books. Reading books over there.”

“You do that,” Derek turned back to his work again, and for a second, Stiles could have sworn he’d seen the ghost of a smile on the wolf’s face.

It wasn’t until Stiles was three sentences into a tale about a wolf that had fallen in love with a witch’s daughter that he realized he had thought Derek was adorable.


	16. Matters of Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, gals, and beyond! I'm going to be really busy the next little while with school and family, so I'm going to be on a bit of a hiatus. I will update as often as I can, but I can't guarantee when the next update will be except that it will be in September. Apologies.
> 
> Also if you haven't played Ultimate Werewolf, you should. It's a pretty fun game to play at parties if you're into that sort of thing.

“So what are we hosting here, anyway?” Stiles asked as he poured over the notes that Derek was trying to pack away. Somehow between realizing he thought Derek could be anything less than terrifyingly beautiful or beautifully terrifying, finishing the book, and now, he’d found himself sitting next to the werewolf in question. It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid anymore. He was. He was most definitely and completely aware that Derek could and would kill him violently and without hesitation or second thoughts. Still, there was something about the way nuances of his face when he forgot to be intimidating that was just…

Just nothing. Derek was keeping him prisoner, for goodness sake. He must be developing some kind of madness after being trapped in this prison for so long. Whatever feelings Derek was inspiring, they definitely weren't healthy and they definitely weren't anything more than physical.

He should get Scott to bash him over the head. Knock some sense into him.

Derek huffed and snatched the papers out of Stiles’ hands, “ _We_ aren’t hosting anything. _I_ am hosting some of the neighboring packs on matters of territory.”

“Oh,” Stiles said as fear bubbled inside him. There were other packs too? How could his kingdom be so blind to not just one potential threat, but several? He feigned a tone that was totally and completely calm and collected, “Uh, who are they? The other packs, I mean,”

“You don’t need to know more than that.”

“Okay, what if I _want_ to know more than that?”

“Then you’ll be disappointed.”

That’s it, Stiles was taking back what he thought about Derek being adorable and writing it off as a moment of insanity. There was no way someone this infuriating could be anything but awful.

“Fine, could you at least let me know if this is a peaceful mission or if they’re going to pose a threat to me or my kingdom?”

Derek slammed his stack of paper against the table and Stiles felt his heart leap from his chest with the sudden movement. Derek’s eye were trained on the far wall and his brows deepened into the fiercest glare Stiles had seen splayed on the wolf’s face. When Derek spoke, it was with a calm that made Stiles’ instincts scream at him to run, run now.

“Why does everything have to be about your kingdom?”

“What?” Stiles voice nearly cracked with nerves. Nearly. Had he let something slip? No, ‘my kingdom’ was vague enough that he could be anyone talking about their home. Unless… _had_ Derek figured it out?

“Not everything is about you humans,” Derek spat bitterly as Stiles grew both relieved and confused, “You’re so quick to get on the defensive that you don’t stop to think that maybe you’re not the ones who need defending.”

There was a tense silence wherein Derek adamantly glowered at the wall and Stiles felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The air seemed charged with the same suspense one would expect from watching a predator coil its body to lunge at its frightened and immobile prey.

“Still not sure what you’re talking about…” Stiles licked his lips as he spoke in as slow and calm a voice he could manage, “But I think what you’re saying is that I don’t have anything to worry about, so why don’t we just calm down and go to our weird dinner party for two thing because neither of us had lunch and we’re both really, really hungry and food makes everything better. Okay?”

Derek shot Stiles an irritated glare, but the tension that had built in his shoulders lessened a little. _Progress!_

“Fine,” Derek stood as Stiles piled up the notes that had fallen astray from the lot. When he’d finished, Derek retrieved a black leather satchel from under his chair and carefully tucked the notes inside.

“I didn’t even realize there’s a tanner in werewolf territory,” Stiles said as Derek swung the satchel over his shoulder. With all the leather on the clothing he’d seen, it should have occurred to him sooner.

“Was,” Derek adjusted his hold of the satchel, “He died.”

“Oh,” Stiles said awkwardly as he stood and followed Derek out of the room, “Sorry for your loss.”

“Ultimately it could be considered a win, especially if you knew the guy.”

“Oh…” Stiles was not at all sure how to feel about that, “uh, good?”

They walked for a good five minutes before the silence yet again grew too loud for Stiles’ ears.

"So I finished reading your book—“

“I know,” Derek nodded tersely, “And then you came to bother me.”

“Only because I wanted to tell you what I thought,” Stiles defended, “Not my fault you had highly enticing secret scrolls and papers casually strewn on your desk. I can’t help it if I got distracted.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Derek raised his brow, “Get distracted.”

“That and speak without thinking,” Stiles shrugged, “It’s gotten me into trouble more than once.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. He’d walked into that one.

“Do you want to know what I think of your book or not?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me regardless.” Derek sighed, “Alright, let me have it. What did you think?”

Stiles didn’t waste any time, “It was _amazing_! The part where Mallory and Lyle admitted their love for each other in front of her mother right before they head off into battle was just so intense. I mean, I don’t know if you heard whatever crazed sounds that came out of my mouth or noticed me staring at the wall for however long, but I was thoroughly entranced. I didn’t even have to move around the room all that much. Which is saying something, because I move around a lot when I read.”

Derek just stared at him, “Really?”

“Yea, I get agitated staying still for too long and tend to migrate-“

“No,” Derek interrupted with apparent frustration, “I mean, you really liked it?”

Stiles’ zeal drained with hesitancy at the disbelief in Derek’s eyes. He looked almost… lost? No, not lost. Confused maybe?

“Well, yea,” Stiles answered awkwardly, “I mean, sometimes you were a little heavy-handed with the description, and seeing the wolf actually have emotions beyond bloodlust was a little jarring and not at all what I’m used to. But it was probably one of the better books I’ve ever read. Or, it’s easily the best book I’ve read that was written by someone who sentenced me to death.”

Derek was quiet for a long time. It was so long that Stiles was debating on whether he should try for conversation again or not when Derek finally spoke, “Thank you.”

Stiles grinned, “You’re welcome.”

\--

Something was very, very wrong. Derek’s plan to tolerate the human to appease Scott and then kill the trespasser was growing more ridiculous by the second. Somehow, despite the short span of time, Derek found himself intrigued by Stiles. Something about this insufferable, loud-mouthed human was calling out to him. Getting him to _care_.

Derek picked at his plate absentmindedly. It didn’t make any sense. For one, Stiles belonged to the enemy. His home was with the kingdom that blamed his people for the massacre and set the Argents on them. He was marked by that past, and reminded Derek constantly of it, from the defensiveness of his stance to the timbre of his voice. How could Derek ever come to even _sympathize_ with someone who believed that he and everyone like him was a murderer? A monster to be run out of their home and set aflame. Sure, Stiles had once shared his home with Scott, but that had been so many years ago.

Derek’s heart had been all but turned to stone since… since before the war. It still hurt to think of who he’d lost, what he’d lost. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel again, but there was no denying that spark. That feeling in his gut when Stiles forgot he was supposed to hate Derek and instead smiled at him like they were equals. That feeling that fluttered when Stiles looked at him without seeing a vile creature of bloodlust, and instead saw him as a person. As a friend. It wasn’t that he had feelings for Stiles per se, but the potential was there and it was almost tangible.

He really should stop this while it was still only a vague sense of what could be. If he allowed things to continue as they were, bad things would happen just like every other time Derek opened his heart to someone. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he decided to give Stiles the bite only to lose him, and there was no way he could send Stiles home without risking his pack. He could always keep Stiles imprisoned indefinitely. He’d be alive and stay that way. But then, to keep him for Derek’s own selfish reasons rather than for the good of the pack was just as monstrous as if he killed Stiles. There was no circumstance Derek could foresee where Stiles or his pack wouldn’t hate him. Whatever was between them, it would end and it would end horribly.

“I said, can you hear me?”

“What?” Derek looked up from his plate to see a hesitantly concerned Stiles looking back at him from across the table.

“I asked you what books you recommend in the library but you just kept staring at your plate. Are you okay?”

Derek found himself lost in Stiles’ eyes. They were so incredibly round and more expressive than eyes had any right to be. Warm and welcoming, they drew Derek in even as they looked at him with the uncertainty they held now. In a perfect world he’d spend hours searching their depths, but a brief moment would have to suffice.

“I appreciate the concern,” he said pointedly, “But I’m not about to discuss the finer points of being an Alpha with you.”

“Fine,” Stiles flicked his hands up with a note of exasperation, “Just thought I’d ask.”

Derek nodded slowly, “If you want book recommendations, I’d go with Wulfaz and the Green Druid. It’s an older one, but it’s well paced and it’s got quite a few twists and turns.”

“I’ll have to read it then,” Stiles smiled that irritating smile, “Now as I was saying before you so rudely dazed away, I really think your next book-“

“My next book?”

“Yea, obviously,” Stiles gestured exuberantly and growing gradually more excited as he spoke, “Pay attention. Anyway, your next book should really play off your talent for description and build your own world. Preferably with dragons. Definitely with dragons. Oh! When I was a child I thought I saw something that was part swan part snake…”

Yep, Derek was screwed.


	17. Uncertainty In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia & John & Stiles' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... apparently February is not "Basically September" and I apologize for the massive delay in chapter updating. I'd bore you with explanations for the delay but most of them are extremely personal or slightly embarrassing. Also school.
> 
> Now this chapter should have a warning for manipulative behaviour because I fear the way I wrote it may be too close to sincerity in appearance. But then if we could see manipulation coming, it wouldn't work nearly as well. So yea, someone's manipulative in this chapter.

_ Lydia _

 

Moonlight filtered into the library while orange candlelight reflected off the smooth oaky surface of the desk. Lydia studied the map before her with such intensity she didn’t hear the door of the library open. It wasn’t until Jackson stood by her shoulder that she realized he had even entered the room.

“Oh,” she started as she looked up at him, “I was just going over the routes Stiles could have taken. It’s possible he’s further out of our search radius now, but I can’t imagine him being further than a few days ride.”

The air was tense between them, with Lydia fighting to rein in her displeasure at seeing Jackson so soon after their argument and Jackson being Jackson.

“Lydia-“

“Look, if you came here to apologize, I don’t want to hear it,” Lydia stood and rolled up the map. She could read it just as well in her chambers as she did in the library. “You said absolutely horrid things to me and I really don’t need to hear you try and justify them.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t what?”

“Try to justify what I said,” Jackson took a careful step forward, allowing Lydia to step away if she so chose. She didn’t. “What I said was horrible, and I never should have said any of it, much less to you. I forget too easily how close you and the prince were.”

“How close we _are_ ,” Lydia corrected coldly, “Until we have evidence of his death, I refuse to believe he is lost to us.”

“Of course,” Jackson nodded.

“And do you really think that’s all I’m upset about? I came to you for comfort and you used that to not only devalue my friendships, but to make me feel like I’m somehow lesser than I know I am. Do you know how much it hurt to hear you not only try to order me to stay with you as if I don’t have a will of my own, but to devalue me as a woman? Don’t forget you were the one who made me leave.”

Jackson raised a brow, “Made you leave?”

“Yes, made me leave,” Lydia crossed her arms, mindful of the map rolled up in her hand, “Does ‘even if we go to war, I’m not worried’ sound familiar? Or maybe ‘anyone dumb enough to get themselves killed isn’t my problem’ hits a little more close to home?” Lydia felt a spike of tension in her heart before she uttered her next words, “Or my personal favorite, ‘I know my knights can protect themselves and our king, and kill _any_ Argent that opposes us.’”

Jackson had been silent while she berated him, and remained so until she placed a hand on her hip and huffed expectantly.

“You’re right,” Jackson nodded, taking another tactful step forward, “I shouldn’t have said those things—“

“Then why did you say them?”

“I don’t have an excuse,” he rested a hand on the desk, his body close but not quite touching Lydia’s, “There’s no way to justify the horrible things I said to you. They were inappropriate and uncalled for. I still stand by my assessment of the prince, but it was wrong to burden you with them when I know how close you two are. He’s your friend, and I should respect that.”

Lydia flipped her hair so she wouldn’t have to look at him, “Yea, you should respect that.”

“As for what I implied about Allison, know that I would never hurt you that way. You know that I never could. I just… I don’t know. I care about you so much, and the thought of you not wanting to spend time with me—“

“That’s not it at all,” Lydia interrupted defensively, “You know I love spending time with you—“

“It doesn’t seem like it sometimes,” Jackson tentatively took Lydia’s hand from her hip and held it close to his heart, looking almost bashful, and “I just wish that I knew you were as serious about me as I am about you You’re so beautiful, and anyone would consider themselves lucky to have even a moment of your attention. I suppose I’m just selfish.”

“Selfish isn’t the word I’d use,” Lydia rolled her eyes, but she felt her defenses lowering around her. She wasn’t sure if it was his words or the way he smelled as the warmth of his body radiated down her front, but something about him just made her melt. She smiled, “Pigheaded maybe.”

“Maybe,” Jackson beamed and kissed Lydia’s hand, “I hope I can expect a more positive answer if I ask you to escort me to my chambers?”

Lydia took her hand back and placed it back on her hips, “Is now really the best time to ask me that? Just because I’m not mad anymore doesn’t mean I’ll just—“

“Relax,” Jackson rested a hand on Lydia’s waist and smiled softly, “I just want to spend time with you. If we should end up naked in each other’s company along the way, so be it. If not, I’ll be just as content.”

“Jackson,” Lydia sighed, “I—“

His lips found hers before she found the end of her sentence. After a moment, she relaxed into his touch while another part of her wondered what the hell she was doing. The kiss ended as Jackson pulled back and sighed, his breath coasting over Lydia’s skin.

“My door is always open,” he kissed her cheek tenderly and stepped back, “I hope to see you.”

At his exit, Lydia felt more confused than she had been since their fight. With a sigh, she unrolled her maps again and sat down. She may as well focus on something she felt she could figure out.

 

_ John _

 

Four days. Four days and three nights had passed since Stiles had gone missing. Since his son had taken off on his horse with nary a sign of his return.

John leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. Through his fingers, he stared at the goblet of mead he’d set down on the desktop. As he drank, a part of him had hoped that like the tales from the north would ring true and he would be bestowed with the knowledge he required to solve the question of where his son had gone and how to bring him home. Alas, there he sat several goblets of mead poorer and not a thought wiser.

There was a knock at the door and he took a deep breath, “Come in.”

“John?” Melissa poked her head tentatively around the door, “Can we talk?”

That was never a good sign. John nodded and waved her in. Melissa moved across the room and was by his side in an instant. She knelt by his side and placed a rough hand over his. His eyes followed the path up her arm, over her hair, down her face, and finally to her large brown eyes. They were worried, lines from her almost forty years of life deepening in her concern. Even so, she was radiant.

“You haven’t come down to dinner,” she began tentatively, “People are starting to worry.”

“Maybe they should be worried,” John muttered, “There’s just… I don’t think I can do this Melissa.”

“Do what?” her brows drew together.

“This,” John gestured vaguely out the door, “Any of this. I can’t do anything for this kingdom if we go to war. We barely made it through the last one and that was only because we had the Argents’ aid. And I… Claudia knew what to do, but she was too unwell to so much as utter a coherent sentence. Without her and with the search parties finding no trace of Stiles, I can’t… I just can’t.”

He still remembered the War of the Wolves. The royal guard had been demanding him to give orders as death surrounded them. Advisors gave him vastly different ideas on how they should proceed. People begged for sanctuary and cried out for him to find their loved ones.

All the while, Claudia, his once vibrant Claudia, had become a babbling echo of who she had been. It was agony to see her so distant and disheveled. Even her moments of clarity when the fever allowed her were nonsensical. Then she would dissolve into an incoherent tirade while John looked on helplessly.

“John,” Melissa gripped his hand tightly, “The people believe in you. _I_ believe on you.”

“The people believe in me because I’ve kept the peace for eight years,” John said perhaps a little too harshly, ”I stood silently by as my son’s future was ripped from his control. I’m only partway competent as a ruler because I’ve lived these people’s lives before. I know what problems they face and how to solve them but I’m out of my depth here. I don’t know how to face this war on my own.”

“You’re not alone,” Melissa stood so that she could drape her arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace, “You have an army that is devoted to you, that has been trained by a knight whose skill could have rivaled that of Lady Kate. You have Lydia to help you with your judgment. And you have this,” she rested a hand over his heart, “Something that’s always served you well. Something that will serve you now.”

“Melissa—“

“I believe in you,” Melissa kissed his hairline, “And I believe in this kingdom.”

John was silent, not entirely sure what to say.

“Come on,” Melissa straightened up and help out a hand, “You need to eat.”

**__ **

_ Stiles _

 

Stiles hesitated before the threshold of his room. His tongue flicked over his lips and he glanced down the corridor to where the entrance to Derek’s room was. Derek had already gone inside after a rushed farewell.

Stiles huffed. The day with Derek had been surprisingly enjoyable. What Derek lacked in social skills, he made up for in dry wit and an almost gentle disposition. It was confusing and awful. Derek was the enemy. He was keeping Stiles here against his will, had been for days now. Stiles knew that, and he still hated him for it. But then… ugh. He just wanted to hate Derek in peace, by thunder! Why was this so difficult?

One of the guards cleared her throat and Stiles stepped into the room. It looked just like it had when he first left it that morning, but something was off. It was a similar feeling to that disorientation that occurs when you reach for something absently only for your hand to close around nothing. Nothing seemed misplaced or moved in any way, but something was telling Stiles that someone had been in this room while he’d been away. Something he didn’t quite understand.

It took him a while to fall asleep that night.


End file.
